


To Love, Honor, and Piss Off

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Consort Merlin (Merlin), Gay Panic, Good Morgana (Merlin), King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Minor Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 65,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: King Arthur, Newly Crowned, Conqueror of Essetir, has been informed that he is out of touch with the common folk. In order for that to change he must take on a Common Consort for three years, a spouse that will help him keep the interest of his poorest subjects in mind. Unfortunately, he winds up with Merlin.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 613
Kudos: 1624
Collections: Merthur Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to anarchycox for the perfect title

They ride into town in a great procession. The knights that guard them have billowing red capes that flutter in the wind, and the sun glints off their armor. A carriage comes to a halt, and a pompous man spills out. He dusts off his robes even though they could not have collected dirt from his position shielded by the elements.

The self-important ass struts out into the center of the village, and Merlin hates him already. The man hasn’t even opened his mouth, but nobles never come to Ealdor, not even when Camelot had taken over Essetir from Cenred. Merlin had heard from the rare traveler that The King of Camelot was meant to be touring all villages of his newly acquired kingdom. Somehow that conveniently did not include Ealdor. So whatever this man has to say, it can’t be any good.

“A proclamation from our King!” Pompous Ass exclaims. Merlin wipes his dirty hands on his trousers and shoots will a look. Probably a new tax, as if they haven’t already given everything they can without starving. Will looks as irritated as Merlin, and he finds comfort in that at least.

Pompous ass has carried on speaking, “Each village must present one person of marriageable age to the court. At which point the king will choose one lucky soul to be his Common Consort for the next three years.

Duties shall include attending to the King’s person, and providing insight into the life of the common folk. 

At the end of three years, this person shall be allowed to return home with a small annual stipend for their service to the crown. We await your offer.”

With that Pompous Ass rolls up the scroll he was carrying, and tucks it into the sleeves of his robe. Ealdor has fallen silent, and everyone is sending each other surreptitious looks, each wondering who the unlucky fool is going to be. 

Merlin looks as well. His mother always taught him to not be so nosy, but habits of a small farming village stick hard. Marriageable age can mean anyone of the village his age or older, but he has a feeling that offering up Old Man Simmons would be seen as an affront, especially when the king is only a year or so older than Merlin himself. 

The options are limited. There is Mary from down the way, whose father is ill and needs constant care. There’s Fisher, who works as the apprentice to the poor excuse for a physician. There’s Freya, who Merlin rescued from a mad woman trying to curse her and who still gets nightmares nearly every night because of what happened to her. That leaves Will, who is the only one in the whole village who can actually patch a roof worth a damn, and himself.

Granted, he helps the crops grow late in the season, but he knows he’s poured enough magic into the earth to keep the crops healthy for the next twenty years. He chased away Kanen, and the other odd bandit here and there, but even he has to admit that since Ealdor became part of Camelot the bandits have stayed well away. His mother would miss him, but she has Will to care for her. She won’t be alone on the off chance he gets chosen.

He and Will exchange another look, and his plan must be written all over his face because Will’s eyes widen, and he tries to grab Merlin by the wrist with a hissed, “Don’t you even think about it!”

Merlin shakes him off, and steps out of the shadow of his Mother’s house, “I’ll go.”

Merlin hears a gasp from behind him, and he winces when he sees his mother. Tears sparkle in her blue eyes, and her mouth hangs open in abject horror. “Merlin, no.”

Merlin tries to smile at her, tries to be reassuring, “It’s alright, Mother. I probably won’t even get picked, and even if I do it’ll only be a few years.”

She shakes her head, “This is unacceptable. Get back here.”

She hasn’t used that tone with him since he grew taller than her. It breaks his heart to deny her. He wants to step back, tell her he was only joking, and keep those tears from falling, but he can’t. Everyone else is needed here, but they can live without him for a bit.

Besides, it’s not as though Camelot is as dangerous as it once was. Magic has been welcomed back, however tentatively. Merlin may not be able to practice openly like he can here, but at least if he gets caught he won’t lose his head for it. He’ll also have the support of Uncle Gaius, a man he’s only met once in his life because of his inability to travel the several day journey from Camelot to Ealdor.

“Take care of her?” he asks Will.

Will has that scowl that he gets when he wants to strangle Merlin for doing something stupid, but he nods. Merlin nods back, relief warring with sadness, then turns to Pompous Ass. He’s eyeing Merlin like he’s just sniffed something particularly unpleasant. Well, at least his instincts have yet to let him down.

“Is this who you agree represents your village?’ Pompous Ass asks, trepidation creeping into his voice.

All eyes are on him. The older neighbors, such as Old Man Simmons for example, don’t seem all that upset to see him go. They’ve never liked him or his magic, thinking him trouble. Freya looks sad, but doesn’t protest. Mary looks grateful as does Fisher. The children are mostly too young to understand what is happening.

No one protests his departure.

Pompous Ass sighs as though disappointed by Merlin’s very existence, and Merlin seriously considers turning him into a toad just to vent his irritation. Pompous Ass once again brushes down his robes even though they could not have collected any dirt in the short time outside the carriage. It’s like he’s trying to brush Ealdor’s very existence from his memory.

“Very well. The King accepts your humble offering with the greatest gratitude.” Pompous Ass announces, “Come with me young man.”

“I’d like a moment to pack.” Merlin says, digging his heels in before Pompous Ass can get the bright idea to have a knight try to drag him. He lets his very shadow anchor him to the ground, firm and unyielding. 

“Your every need will be provided for. You hardly need to pack.” Pompous Ass says imperiously and clicks his fingers like Merlin is a dog.

“I have a few things I’d like to take with me to remind me of home.” Merlin insists and he thinks one of the knights snickers. 

“We are wasting daylight.” Pompous Ass insists.

Merlin shrugs, “We’ll burn more if we keep arguing.”

Pompous Ass opens his mouth to responds, but the same knight from before cuts him off with an amused grin, “Go on, Lord Lionel. Just let him pack a few things. I’ll even watch him so he doesn’t try to run off if it’ll get your knickers out of their twist.”

Pompous Ass goes red, but acquiesces with sharp nod toward Merlin. The knight hands his reins off to one of his brother in arms and dismounts. He walks over to Merlin, and claps a friendly hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Merlin was it?” he asks with a charming grin.

Merlin nods.

“Nice to meet you, Merlin. I’m Gwaine. Let’s go pack your things.” Gwaine says cheerfully.

Merlin turns and steps back to the one room house he’s known all his life. Will is holding his mother, and she’s crying into his neck. He wants to be annoyed, it’s not like he’s dying, he’s just going away and might be back within the week, but he can’t bear how much he’s hurting her.

Merlin fetches his rucksack down from the high shelf he stored it on to keep the rats from getting at it, and starts cramming things into it while Gwaine watches. Merlin looks at him from the corner of his eyes, but Gwaine seems to be fascinated by the runes carved into the ceiling beams. They’re left over from the last bandit attack, when Merlin couldn’t sleep for a week because of the terror that they might return. He’s not sure if the protection runes actually did anything useful, but they made him feel better at the time.

He takes advantage of Gwaine’s distraction, and buries his book of magic into the bottom of his bag. On Gaius’s one visit from Camelot, he’d given it to Merlin to try to help him learn to control his gifts. Since then it’s become a well-worn companion, pages fuzzed at the edges from use, and extra leaves tucked in describing new spells in tiny hand writing to conserve the luxury material of paper.

He adds the tiny dragon figurine his father left him as a baby, and the other tunic and trousers he owns. He tops it all off with his red scarf, and a bedroll. He’s not sure if he’s expected to sleep in the carriage, but he’ll be damned if he spends any more time with Pompous Ass than he has to.

He tightens the straps on his rucksack, then shoulders it. Gwaine must catch the movement out off the corner of his eye because he turns to Merlin with another cheerful grin, “Ready?”

“I guess I have to be. No putting it off.” Merlin replies.

Gwaine shrugs, “Fair enough, my friend. That was a good thing you did out there.”

Merlin frowns, “What? Volunteering to go?”

Gwaine laughs and flicks his hair from his face, “That too, but I was talking about telling off Lord Lionel. You’re the first who has had the balls to do it.”

“Someone should do it more often.” Merlin says, a tentative smile spreading to match Gwaine’s.

“Rather the point of this whole Common Consort business.” Gwaine agrees, “Let’s go before he sends someone in here to drag us out.”

Merlin follows Gwaine out of the house, and stops in the little patch of grass outside. His mother has stopped crying, but he can tell she’s on the verge of it again. She pulls him into a tight hug, and he squeezes her back so hard he’s worried he might crack one of her ribs.

“I knew you would leave us at some point, but I always thought it would be when you were too restless to stay.” She whispers in his ear.

“It’s not forever, Mother. I probably won’t even be of interest. I’ll be back in a week. Maybe two.” 

She gives him one last squeeze and says, “Let us hope so.”

Will pulls him into a hug next. They’ve been thick as thieves since they were children, and it’s going to be strange to be separated from him even for a couple weeks. They pat each other on the back a couple of times, then separate. Merlin spares one last look over his shoulder as he walks over to the waiting knights, and sends Ealdor as a whole a cheeky grin.

“Get in.” Pompous Ass hisses through the open carriage door, “Stop making a spectacle.”

Merlin slams the door shut, and instead swings himself up to sit beside the carriage driver. He’s not going to listen to a lecture from a stuffy noble the entire ride back to Camelot, he’d be flinging himself out of the moving carriage before they even crossed the ridge.

He hears Gwaine’s delighted laughter from the crowd of knights, and smiles to himself. At least he’s already made one ally. Should make this easier.

They turn back to the woods with as much racket as they arrived; horse hooves stamping the ground, chattering among the men, shouted instructions. Merlin watches it all with fascination from his perch next to the driver. They disappear into the trees, and Merlin turns his head to keep Ealdor in sight until it disappears from view.

He sits silently for a while, observing the road they take. It is far from the most direct route back to Camelot, but it is probably the only road wide enough to accommodate the carriage. He probably should have inquired about how he would get home after the inevitable rejection. Ah well, too late now.

He turns his attention to the driver next. He’s a grizzled old man, and he hunches into his coat like a turtle in its shell.

“I’m Merlin.” Merlin introduces himself, holding his hand out.

The driver glares at him, “I heard you in the village. Don’t need to be introduced to a peasant.”

“Oh.”

The driver hunkers further into his coat, “If you ask me this whole idea that the king should marry someone of common blood is ridiculous.”

“Well that’s something you and I can agree on.”

The driver turns his head, looking like he might actually chuckle a bit. They both know that the reasons why they think this whole plan is ridiculous are very different. The driver no doubt thinks his king should be above such things, untouchable. Merlin thinks that the king needing to marry to stay in touch with the common folk indicates that he must not be a very good king.

They stop at night fall. Pompous Ass stays in his carriage like his nickname implies he would. The driver hops down, and goes wandering to stretch his legs. Merlin is left to his own devices, but gets down as well. He’s grateful that the knights seem perfectly happy to sleep under the stars. He doesn’t know how to set up a tent.

Merlin follows after a couple of the men who go to fetch firewood, figuring he may as well be useful. He returns with an armful of firewood to find one of the knights, a huge brute of a man, crouched in front of the neatly propped up firewood. He strikes the flint again and again, and little sparks illuminate his finger each time, but the wood doesn’t catch. After he repeats the process for the fifth time, Merlin takes pity on him, and sets his own firewood aside.

“Here, let me.” He offers, and the big knight hands over his flint. Merlin strikes it few times for effect, and then murmurs the spell under his breath. Fire catches the exposed kindling, and with some gentle encouragement, the whole thing crackles to life quite happily.

When he looks up the big knight is looking at him, though it’s hard to read his expression in the semidarkness.

Merlin settles back on his heels and raises his eyebrows, “What?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Help you start the fire?”

“It’s just… you didn’t have to. Until you return home, you’re a guest of the king. You aren’t expected to help.” Big Knight says with a slight confused frown.

“What Percy here is trying to say, is that the others we’ve escorted have all sat back and let us do all the hard work from the second they were chosen. We weren’t expecting you to be any different.”

“Oh.” Merlin pauses and offers them a self-deprecating little shrug, “Sorry.”

Percy and Gwaine laugh, and settle next to him in front of the fire. Another knight brings over a pot to start some stew for everyone, and Merlin starts to stand to give him a hand, but Gwaine tugs him back to the ground with an amused shake of his head.

“It’s Kay’s turn to cook. We rotate. We would add you in, but the rotation won’t finish until we get back to Camelot.” He explains.

“Habit. My mother wouldn’t let me back home if she knew I sat around when there was work to do.”

Percy smiles at him then, “My mother was the same.”

Merlin gets the idea that he’s made another ally. His feeling is confirmed that night after dinner when the knights all spread out their sleeping rolls. Percy and Gwaine settle next to each other, but leave a gap open between them. 

“It’s easier for us to keep you safe if you’re right here.” Gwaine says by way of explanation as Merlin settles between them.

“I can take care of myself.” Merlin says and tugs his thin blanket over his shoulders. At least it’s spring, not too chilly.

“Sure you can.” Gwaine agrees, but obviously doesn’t believe him. Correcting him would require admitting to his magic, and so Merlin stays quiet. Magic may no longer be banned, but that doesn’t mean the king or his men are willing to accept it into their ranks. If the time comes, he’ll tell them, but until such a time Merlin is going to keep that secret close as he’s always done.

He raises with the knights the next day, and helps them all clean the dishes and pack things away. Gwaine and Percy are amused by the whole thing, and a few of the others seem glad of the help. Both the driver and Pompous Ass glare at him as though he’s Will at last harvest festival running through the fields naked after too much wine.

He wishes he had a horse so he could ride with Gwaine and Percy. Instead he hops up next to the driver again, and tucks his rucksack under his feet. He passes the ride in silence, but sometimes Gwaine will shoot him a funny face over his shoulder.

They reach the citadel by late afternoon, and Merlin’s breath catches in his throat. It’s massive. The castle towers high above the walls, and the pale stone glows in the sunlight.

“Close your mouth, boy. You’ll catch flies.” The driver snaps with none of the good humor of Gwaine. Merlin glares at him. If the man wakes the next morning with a rash that makes it impossible for him to sit, well he had it coming.

They enter in the main courtyard of the castle, and Merlin once again shoulders his rucksack. He jumps down from his perch, and takes a second to marvel at the sheer number of people rushing by. Percy claps him on the shoulder with one large hand, startling Merlin from his observations.

“We better get you inside.”

“Wait. I was wondering if I could go see someone first.” Merlin says, remembering Uncle Gaius. He’s not sure how long it will take for him to be dismissed, and he doesn’t want to miss his opportunity to say hello.

“You know someone in Camelot?”

“My uncle. Well, I don’t know if he’s actually my uncle, but he’s known my mother since she was small so I call him Uncle. I haven’t seen him since I was ten, but I would love to say hello. My mother would kill me if I didn’t and…” he knows he’s rambling, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

“What’s this about an Uncle?” Gwaine asks, coming along side Percy.

“He has an uncle here in Camelot. Wants to say hello before we hand him over for inspection.” Percy summarizes.

Gwaine grins mischievously, and Merlin just knows Gwaine must get Percy into all sorts of trouble. It suits Merlin just fine though, he’s going to get his way.

“What’s your uncle’s name? Maybe we know him.” Percy asks.

“Gaius.”

“Gaius is your uncle?” Gwaine asks, eyebrows raised.

“Is that a problem?” 

“No. He’s the court physician, actually. We know exactly where he should be. Come on.”

Gwaine leads them up a flight of stairs into a small tower, and pushes open a wooden door with a cheerful shout. Merlin enters in behind him, and Uncle Gaius looks exactly the same as he did when Merlin was ten; old.

“What is it you need, Sir Gwaine?” Uncle Gaius asks, affection and exasperation twining in his voice.

“Someone here to see you.” Gwaine answers, and steps aside to reveal Merlin. Percy mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘flair for the dramatic’.

Uncle Gaius squints at him, obviously recognizing him but unable to pinpoint how. Merlin doesn’t blame him. The difference between ten and twenty is rather a large gap.

“It’s Merlin.” Merlin says by way of explanation.

Gaius smiles a little, “Hunith’s son?”

“Yup.”

Gaius lets out a surprised laugh and shuffles over. He clasps Merlin’s arms and looks him over from head to toe, “Last I saw you, you barely came up to my elbow. What are you doing here, my boy?”

Merlin expects to hate being called boy again, but the way Gaius says it, with all the warmth and affection in the world, makes him grin. He remembers Gaius being stern, and mildly disapproving, but always kind. Merlin remembers being ten years old and crying for days after Gaius returned to Camelot.

“Got dragged into the whole Common Consort thing.” Merlin explains.

Gaius raises an eyebrow, and Merlin shifts uncomfortably, “And your mother let you?”

“Err, not exactly.” 

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll probably get a strongly-worded letter in the next week asking you to keep me out of the king’s clutches.” Merlin says with a rueful smile.

Gaius sighs, “Still trouble, I see.”

“Only a bit!” Merlin defends himself.

Gaius looks faintly amused, and looks over his shoulder to Gwaine and Percy. “Sir Percival, I am tasking you with getting Merlin where he needs to go. You know Lord Lionel will pitch a fit if Merlin is gone much longer.”

“Why aren’t you tasking me?” Gwaine asks, though he doesn’t sound too offended.

“Your trouble combined with Merlin’s will bring down Camelot. Now all of you, out. Merlin, come visit me again when you get the chance.”

He shoos them from the room, and closes the door in their faces. They troop down the stairs together. Merlin turns to Percy as they step back into the courtyard.

“Your name is Percival?”

Gwaine’s laughter lasts all the way from the courtyard to the inner castle. Percival keeps giving Gwaine confused looks, obviously not understanding why Merlin not knowing his full name is funny. The look of utter betrayal when Merlin chuckles a bit at Gwaine’s infectious hilarity, sets both of them off all over again, and Percival hauls them both by the backs of their shirts to the meeting hall like uncooperative kittens.

He releases them when they reach a set of imposing double doors. Another knight stands guard in front, with curly reddish hair. He grins when he sees Percival and Gwaine, obviously used to whatever nonsense Gwaine cooks up.

“Last one, Leon.” Percival says and give Merlin a gentle shove towards the doors.

“Let’s hope he’s better than the last four you brought in.” Leon says.

Gwaine recovers from his hilarity at that point and gives Merlin’s shoulder a gentle shake, “Merlin is good people. He helped start the fire last night, and wash dishes this morning.”

Leon looks mildly impressed, but refrains from saying so out loud. Merlin offers him a friendly smile in return, and Leon’s face softens a little. He pushes open the double doors, and nods for Merlin to go inside. Merlin offers Gwaine and Percival a wave and steps through, Leon hot on his heels.

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but a line of people so long it stretches from the front of the hall to the double doors, and back up to the front of the hall again was certainly not it. Pompous Ass did say one from every village in Camelot, and with inclusion of Essetir that must be a lot. It’s obvious that the others have had time to settle in, none of the rest of the have their packs with them if they bothered to pack at all, and Merlin is hyper aware of the fact he’s covered in grime from the road. He never really wanted this position anyway, but the part of him that always tries to outdo Will is irritated at not being allowed to put his best foot forward.

Leon directs him to stand at the end of the line, so Merlin goes. The others eye him suspiciously as he passes by them, viewing him not as a person but as direct completion, and it makes his skin crawl. He wants to throw up his hands in surrender and bow out, and the only reason he doesn’t is because he doesn’t want Ealdor to look bad.

Leon is at the head of the hall, and he keeps sending people to one side of the hall or the other. His choices don’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to them. He spends all of three seconds looking at someone before gesturing them off to the side. Merlin gets anxious at the wait, and finds himself fidgeting. He scratches at the dirt on his jaw, and tries to keep his fingers from fluttering nervously against his jacket.

He reaches the front of the line finally, and Leon squints at him more closely than he did outside. Then gestures for Merlin to join the much smaller group on the left. Merlin goes, and silently prays that this means he’ll get to go home.

To his horror, Leon smiles politely at the much larger group on the right, and says, “Thank you for volunteering, but you may go. We will send you with a little money for your trouble.”

Groans of disappointment echo across the stone as everyone leaves. A few people commiserate with the neighbors they were just plotting against. Nothing bonds people together like the sting of rejection.

After that Leon starts pulling the left hand group away one by one. He asks them all a question, but whatever it is, Merlin can’t hear and he doesn’t want to risk exposing his magic in order to hear better. He’ll just have to pass or fail this inquisition like everyone else. He really hopes he fails. Crops will need planting soon, and his help always makes things go faster.

Again Leon separates them into two groups based on their answers, and Merlin finds himself wondering which group will be the rejected this time around. He wanders over to Leon when it’s his turn.

“Gwaine said your name is Merlin.”

Merlin nods in confirmation.

“Well, Merlin, I only have one question. Why did you volunteer?”

“I affected the village the least.”

Leon tilts his head with an interested frown, “What does that mean?”

So Merlin explains about Fisher, Freya, Mary, and Will. He explains why each of them were far more vital to Ealdor than he was, although conveniently leaves out the fact that if they were still fighting raiders he would have chased out the Knights of Camelot himself.

Leon grins then like he’s just figured something out. Then he turns to face the two groups.

“You all may go, I have made my decision.”

“What?” Merlin almost yells. 

Leon just ignores him and escorts the rest of the people out of the great double doors before actually turning back to acknowledge Merlin’s question.

“Congratulations, Merlin.”

“Me? You’re picking me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have known Arthur since we were both boys, and you looks exactly like the men he used to pretend to not look at. Your answer proved you were noble, which he will respect. You didn’t simper about what a great honor it would be to marry the king, so you aren’t a boot licker.” Leon pauses for a second and smiles mischievously, “And you befriended Gwaine and that means you are going to infuriate him, which he desperately needs. So congratulations, Merlin, in a few days you will be Common Consort to King Arthur.”


	2. Chapter 2

“We’re here to make peace with Lothian. You are a good king, Lot, Camelot has no quarrel with you.” Arthur assures him.

Lot sits back in his seat, eyeing Arthur with that same look Uther used to get when he was trying to figure out just how disappointing Arthur had been. Arthur refuses to shift under the gaze, even though it reduces him back to that thirteen year old boy still desperate to seek the approval of his father. He can hardly help that he became king at such a young age.

“You didn’t have a quarrel with Essetir either.” Lot says.

“No, but I did have a quarrel with Cenred, or did you forget our multiple requests for aid when he invaded Camelot?” Arthur asks, “Or when his assassins tried to kill me, and succeeded in killing my father?”

“You could have just sent Cenred back to his own borders. Why conquer all of Essetir?”

It isn’t entirely an unfair question. He’d spent many nights discussing this very thing with Leon during the war. In the end they had chosen conquering for a variety of reasons. 

Arthur pours himself some water, and takes a seat once more. He’s always thought better when able to be up and moving, but he has no desire to set Lot’s teeth on edge.

“We knew that Cenred would just keep coming. If we killed him, and let his heir inherit, then his heir would inevitably seek to take revenge. When we became aware that he had no heir, we knew leaving an entire kingdom leaderless would result in more civil war. So we took Essetir.”

“To stop bloodshed?”

“Yes.”

Lot swirls his goblet imperiously, “What about all the innocent people whose crops you burned? Or those that weren’t loyal to Cenred, but to their kingdom and so stood against you?”

“I told my soldiers that no one in the villages were meant to be harmed. I am aware that they did not all listen, so I traveled to the villages and offered aid.” Arthur explains, “I fail to see what this has to do with the relationship between Lothian and Camelot.”

“The people in Lothian are far closer to their king than the people of Camelot. We are a small kingdom, and I do not own many riches. I am more of a village elder than a king most days. I am trying to ensure two things.”

Arthur gestures for him to continue.

“Firstly, I want to be sure that you will not invade Lothian,” he puts a hand up to stop Arthur from pointing out that the peace treaty would do exactly that, “I am well aware that our agreement today would be the first step in that direction, however, as I said, I have two point I want to ensure. Secondly, I want to ensure that you are aware of your people’s needs.”

Arthur suppresses a groan. He knows how Uther hated, truly hated, Lot. Now he’s starting to understand why. He’s always been far more in touch with his people than Uther ever was. He committed treason by helping Morgana go into hiding when her magic was revealed, for God’s sake. Gwen is practically his closest advisor besides Leon, though she doesn’t want the promotion to be official. For Lot to question it now gives Arthur a headache.

“I am assuming that you won’t sign any treaty until you are satisfied that I listen to the needs of my people.” Arthur says, fingers tapping restlessly against his goblet.

Lot inclines his head, “You assume correctly.”

“What can I do to set your mind at ease?”

He hopes the request is reasonable. Lothian is not a big Kingdom, but it does stand between Camelot and the great kingdoms of the north. If he wants peace with them, then he needs peace with Lothian. Lothian he may be able to conquer on its own, but it will have the backing of all the north and Camelot would lose that war before it had even begun. 

Uther would no doubt be skeptical, but Arthur doesn’t want to wage war against all the other Kingdoms before asking for peace. He has no desire to lose good men just to prove his might. He would rather extend the hand of friendship first.

“If you are serious, there is a tradition in Lothian, Arroy, and Selice that might prove useful to us all.” Lot answers.

“I am willing to listen.” Is all Arthur is willing to promise.

“We have a practice of a Common Consort. When the King seems to be growing out of touch with his people, the people allow him to take a spouse from the common folk to remind him of their needs. It has prevented more than one rebellion, and has prevented any of our kings becoming too hungry for power or wealth.”

“I have made my stance very clear on marriage,” Arthur reminds him, “I wish to marry for love.”

“I understand, and find that rather noble of you, but perhaps we can find a middle ground. Let us put a time limit on the marriage. After seven years, the marriage contract is dissolved and both parties are free to do as they will.”

“Seven is too long. One.” Arthur negotiates.

“Five.”

“Three.”

Lot considers it a moment, then nods, “Very well. Three is acceptable.”

“I want a guarantee that you will sign the peace treaty when I do this. I trust you Lot, but as you and I both know it is better to get things in writing.” Arthur says, and leans forward on his elbows so he can stare Lot down.

“I will sign a document agreeing to sign the treaty, as negotiated before this meeting, upon the three year deadline of the marriage contract.”

“Not good enough. You will sign it six months after the wedding ceremony.”

Six months isn’t long enough for all the north to come together against Camelot. It will take at least that long for all of them to arrive in one place.

“If I do that, what is to guarantee that you won’t simply dissolve the contract as soon as I have signed?” Lot asks.

“We can add a clause to the treaty that states if I dissolve the marriage contract before the three year mark, then you can dissolve the existing treaty and ask for a renegotiation of terms.” Arthur offers up.

“I find that acceptable.”

“Then we have an agreement?” 

Lot smiles then and holds out his arm for Arthur to clasp, a sign of respect between rulers, “We have an agreement. You negotiate well, Arthur, better than many of the men twice your age.”

Arthur smiles, and thanks him in return. He feels like he might have earned a bit of respect this day. The terms of the treaty are solid for both parties, and this marriage treaty, while obnoxious, still allows him his freedom in the end. It is a good agreement for all involved. 

Lot leaves the room before Arthur does, and sure enough the door swings open a few minutes later to admit Leon. Leon has been invaluable ever since Uther’s passing. Arthur relies on him perhaps a bit too much at times, but Leon has never steered him wrong. Plus his few extra years in the world proves useful when Arthur needs advice.

“Go well, sire?”

“Well there won’t be war between us and Lothian. The treaty will hold.” Arthur says and runs a hand through his hair.

“But?” Leon prompts

Arthur shoots him a rueful look, “But I am going to have to get married.”

Leon’s eyes crinkle with concern and he sits across from Arthur, “But you always made it well known that you desired to marry for love.”

“I know. I’m not happy about it, but I have convinced him to let be a temporary union. It dissolves after three years.”

“Who are you marrying?”

“That has yet to be determined.”

Leon chuckles, and shakes his head, “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Believe it or not, I am to marry a commoner.”

“A commoner.” Leon says flatly.

“Apparently in Lothian and some of the surrounding Kingdoms, there is a tradition of a Common Consort. If the King is growing out of touch with his people, he is required to marry one of them to remind him of his duties.”

“You love your people.” Leon points out.

“Lot was not convinced.”

“So you’re going to marry a commoner you have never met.”

“Yes.”

“Morgana is never going to let you live this down.”

Arthur groans and buries his head in his arms. Devious witch of a half-sister. Why did he ever make her court sorceress?

Leon pats him encouragingly on the shoulder, and asks, “How are you going to pick?”

“Put the names of the citizens of marrying age in a hat and pull at random?” Arthur suggests without lifting his head.

“That way lies madness. You’ll end up tearing away people who are needed where they are.”

As if on cue, the double doors open again and Morgana drifts in. She probably heard them mention her and decided to be nosy. Arthur is convinced she has listening spells hidden all over the castle.

“Did the meeting with Lot go that badly?” she asks as she sits next to him. All he can make out from where his head is buried in his arms is the lilac silk of her dress. It makes sense that she’s dressing more cheerfully for the weather, but he half expected it to be grey instead of the black she got used to wearing during her years in hiding.

“Arthur is getting married.” Leon announces, and Arthur raises his head just enough to glare at him.

“Arthur,” Morgana exclaims indignantly, “I spent years pushing against the marriages Uther tried to set up for you, and now you’ve just given it up?”

“It’s only for three years,” Arthur answers as he sits up, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Arthur is going to take a commoner as a consort for three years to appease Lot.” Leon explains.

“A commoner?” Morgana asks in the same flat disbelieving tone as Leon.

“Apparently, I am out of touch with my people.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

“Morgana!” Arthur says indignantly.

“You are the most obnoxious man in the five kingdoms. It wouldn’t hurt for you to have someone other than me to remind you, at least for a few years.” she says.

“Well I’m glad you approve.” Arthur says dryly.

“How are you going to choose?” 

“We were just deciding that,” Leon interjects, “We have gone through the name out of a hat method.”

“Why not just ask for a volunteer from every village?” Morgana suggests.

“That could work, sire.” Leon agrees.

“Very well. How do we narrow down from there?” Arthur asks.

“Well you can’t decide for yourself.” Morgana says.

Arthur turns to her, as indignant as the time she told Uther about his crush on a serving girl when he was ten. They should have known then that they were siblings, it was such a sisterly thing to do. Now she’s doing it again apparently, taking him out of the decision process. She looks back at him with amusement crinkling her eyes.

“Why not?”

“Because you would keep putting off choosing someone, or would choose someone and then bully them into leaving you.” Morgana retorts, “You have to honor the spirit of things, Arthur, or do you want to turn out like Uther?”

“Fine.” Arthur says through gritted teeth, “Then Leon can have final say. You’ll just pick someone to deliberately piss me off.”

“Leon can have final say.” Morgana agrees.

“Well, as soon as I sign the agreement, we should start sending out knights. Camelot has recently doubled in size, it will take some time to reach all the villages.” Arthur instructs.

Leon nods, and stands, “I will alert the knights to begin preparing, sire.”

With that, Leon laves the room. Arthur and Morgana sit in silence for a while, then she pats his arm with one cool hand, and leaves as well. Arthur is left alone to contemplate what the hell he just got himself into.


	3. Chapter 3

The room Merlin is escorted to is literally the same size as his house back in Ealdor, and it’s all his for the foreseeable future. A large bed dominates the center of the room, but there’s also a small table with chairs presumably to allow him to work or host guests. Why they think he’s going to do either of those things is beyond him. 

There’s a changing screen against another wall and that, at least, he is used to. Growing boy in a one room cottage with his mother? Privacy is a necessity in any way you can get it. This changing screen, however, is much nicer than anything at home; proper carved wood instead of an old curtain more patch than curtain. He also can’t help but wonder why the screen is necessary if this room is his and his alone, so he decides to ask.

He turns to Leon with a friendly smile, “Am I sharing this with someone then?”

“No. These chambers are yours for the next three years.” Leon says, looking as wrong footed as Merlin feels.

“Oh. Then why is there a changing screen?”

“To preserve your dignity when your manservant comes to help you dress.” Leon is frowning like all of this should be obvious.

Merlin bursts into laughter with a rather undignified snort. Who knew Leon was a prankster? He would’ve expected it from Gwaine, so it makes it all the funnier. Merlin having a manservant? Ridiculous. Only Leon isn’t laughing, he’s looking at Merlin like he’s a few plums short of a plum cake.

“You’re not serious.” Merlin says wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Leon’s confused frown only deepens, and Merlin feels very sober all of a sudden, “You’re serious.”

“You are going to be a member of the royal household, of course you will have a servant.”

“No. Oh no. No way.”

“No?”

“No!” Merlin says indignantly, “I am not being waited on hand and foot. What point is there for a common consort if they just get turned into a noble in the process?”

“But—” Leon stutters.

Merlin tips his head to the side and lets out an annoyed huff, “What use would I have for a servant? I can walk to the kitchen to get food myself, I can dress myself.”

“But what about when you need a bath?” Leon’s voice is strained, and Merlin has a moment of deep satisfaction. Leon chose him because he was going to be infuriating, and it serves him right to also be on the receiving end. He should have chosen one of those simpering idiots if he wanted someone to play by the rules.

“I can heat my own water, and can go to the river myself when I need anything more than a pitcher. I don’t need a servant.” Leon opens his mouth to argue again, but Merlin cuts him off, “If I’m here to keep the king in touch with people like me, then I need to stay someone like me. No one is going to as much as look at me if I have servant. It’s not happening.”

Leon sighs, and he seems to praying for patience. He lowers his eyes from the ceiling so he can look at Merlin properly. Merlin just raises his eyebrows in response. His mother always says he has the will of an ox once he digs his heels in. He once held his breath so long that he passed out because Will took a toy from him. He wishes Leon luck going up against it.

“Some of the clothes for feasts can be quite tricky to get in and out of.” Leon says after some consideration.

“Why would I need to go to a feast? I’m not here to make political alliances, and believe me you wouldn’t want me to.”

“Other kings and visiting nobles will no doubt be curious about you. You will be required to meet them.” 

“Do they expect their common people to be dressed in finery when they come to visit?”

“Well,” Leon clenches his jaw a bit before spitting, “No.”

“Great. Then they shouldn’t expect me to either.”

“The king—”

“Is stuck with me unless you choose someone else. He wants me to be a common consort, then that’s what he’s getting.” Merlin insists.

Leon once again opens his mouth to say something, looking a bit like a fish out of water. After a moment, he closes it again, smiles, and shakes his head.

“Would you like me to show you where the kitchens are?”

Merlin uncrosses his arms, and smiles back, “Yes. That would be great.”

He dumps his rucksack in the corner of one room, and follows Leon down the hall.

The kitchens turn out to be on the other side of the castle from where he’s staying, and he gets lost after they go down their third stairwell. He’s going to need to ask for directions every time until he finally gets the lay of the land. The kitchens feel more like home than anywhere else he’s been since his arrival, perhaps except Gaius’s. The scent of baking bread makes him feel like he’s standing with his mother at their hearth.

Leon, thank god, does not introduce Merlin as the Common Consort. Instead he just gives them Merlin’s name, and informs them that he’ll be staying for a while. The servants take it at face value, and welcome Merlin into the fold with surprising welcome. Cook almost sets him to peeling potatoes, and he was ready to jump in to pull his own weight, but Leon dragged him back out. 

“I wouldn’t have minded.” Merlin points out as Leon leads him back to his room.

“Please, Merlin, leave us some semblance of our routine?”

Merlin only relents because Leon’s smile is starting to look strained, and he has a feeling that if he’s the cause of Leon asking for a headache remedy, Gaius will have some strong words for him. So he swallows the protest, and lets Leon lead him to his room to rest. Why he needs to rest when he’s done nothing yet, is another mystery of royal life he will have to figure out. 

With nothing but time stretching out in front of him, he unpacks. He hangs up his spare tunic in the massive empty wardrobe next to the changing screen, and rests his spare trousers and scarf on the shelf inside. They look a little sad in there all on their own, but there’s nothing for it. He sets his little wooden dragon next to his scarf where he knows it will be safe.

With all that done, he settles at the table with his book. He’s read it too many times to count, but he finds comfort in its pages. The nature of magic is strange, the intersection of will and ability. Even now he still finds new ways to use it, and sometimes it still reacts instinctually. He hasn’t ever found an explanation for that one.

The door to his room creaks open, and he jumps to his feet like he’s been caught doing something wrong despite it being his room. A young woman wanders in with a basket tucked under one arm. She wears a simple linen shift under a red outer dress that casts her brown skin in a warm glow. Her curly brown hair frames a sweet face, and her brown eyes widen when she sees him.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I didn’t think you’d be in here just yet. I didn’t mean to interrupt, my lord.”

Merlin’s nose wrinkles at the term of respect, “Please don’t call me that. It’s just Merlin.”

“Oh. Well… It’s nice to meet you, my—Merlin.” She says, fumbling over her words.

Merlin smiles, there’s something about her that reminds him of Freya. The kindness in her eyes perhaps, or the sheepish way she tries to cover her mistake.

“It’s nice to meet you too…?”

“Guinevere.” She says and smiles back with a little laugh, “Most people call me Gwen. I’m Lady Morgana’s maid.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Gwen.” Merlin laughs, “Did you need something?”

“Oh! No. Thank you. I’m just changing the sheets.”

With that explanation, she crosses the room to the massive bed. Before Merlin can stop her, she yanks the covers off with a brutal efficiency and dumps them in the floor. He finds himself at a loss once more. He hasn’t slept in them, so why on earth do they need to be changed?

He follows after her, and grabs the opposite corner of the sheet, “Need some help?”

She looks like she’s going to deny it, but when she sees he’s already tucking in the sheets she lets it go. They make the bed together, and she sends him little amused smiles the whole time.

“You know,” she says conversationally as they place the pillows back on the bed, “You’re different than I thought you’d be.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re kind for one. Not that I expected Leon to pick someone nasty! It’s just… well… a new station in life so suddenly really does go to someone’s head easily.”

“Gwen, yesterday I was helping Old Madge deliver a calf.” Merlin responds, “I was literally up to my elbows in muck. I’m not going to get above myself.”

Gwen nods approvingly, “I think you’ll do Arthur good.”

“He lets you call him Arthur?” Merlin asks, surprised.

“Those closest to him do. Even Leon will if it’s just the knights out on patrol.”

Merlin files this information away for later. Perhaps King Arthur isn’t as much of an ass as he first thought. He can’t imagine any king allowing a servant to address him in such a way. 

He doesn’t want to hold Gwen from her duties, but she’s the first person in Camelot to willingly answer questions. May as well follow her then.

“I’m bored out of my mind sitting in here. Any chance you could use more help changing sheets?”

“I would very much like that.” Gwen responds with a little bob of her head.

Merlin grins at her, and locks his book away in the compartment in his wardrobe. Then he follows her out into the hallway just like he did with Leon earlier. This goes much smoother. He carries her basket for her, and chatters her ear off with questions. She doesn’t seem bothered by it though. She just laughs and answers, then tosses him a side of the sheet so they can make the bed.

It’s this way that Merlin learns about Gwen’s paramour, a knight named Lancelot that Merlin hasn’t met yet. He learns about Arthur’s struggles to do what’s right, and his often superior attitude, marked by intense nobility. He learns about Morgana’s return to Camelot as court sorceress.

He gets to meet Lady Morgana later when they enter her room to change sheets. She is, in a word, terrifying. Her eyes are incredibly soft and mischievous when she takes in Gwen, but when they flick to Merlin they are hard and assessing. He feels like she’s trying to see right down to the deepest secrets he has which, considering where he grew up, are few and far between.

Gwen cuts the tension by cheerfully announcing, “This is Merlin, my lady. He volunteered to help me with sheet duty.”

Lady Morgana’s eyes soften once more, and she actually offers Merlin a little smile, “That was kind of you, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs uncomfortably, “I was just sitting in my room, My Lady.”

“You’re the young man Leon chose.” Morgana says, and Merlin nods even though it wasn’t stated as a question, “He does know how to pick them.”

Her voice is cryptic. If he really had to identify a tone, it would be amusement. Whether that means she approves is a mystery, so he avoids looking at her and instead focuses on helping Gwen make the bed. 

When they leave, he shivers and smiles at Gwen, “You don’t want to be on her bad side, do you?”

“No.” Gwen agrees, “A lord once implied that women should be seen and not heard, and she spiked his wine with a sleeping agent so that he fell asleep in his stew.”

Merlin bursts into laughter. He has a feeling when he gets to know Morgana, they’re going to get along just fine.

Their shared amusement comes to an abrupt end when someone calls his name. They turn to find Leon striding up the hall towards them, and Merlin stifles an annoyed whine. What now? He was having fun.

“What are the chances of me being able to hide before he reaches us?” he asks Gwen.

She bites her lip, and he just knows that she’s going to laugh at him as soon as he’s out of ear shot. To be fair, it is all rather amusing. A farm boy running around Camelot about to be married off to the king? Sounds like something a child would dream up.

“Not very good I’m afraid.” Gwen answers.

Merlin rolls his eyes playfully, and hands over her now empty basket. If he was able to use his magic, then Leon would be hard pressed to remember Merlin had ever existed. Unfortunately that door is closed until he knows just how comfortable the king is with magic. One figure head sorceress, does not an ally make.

“Duty calls.” He says to Gwen, and goes to meet Leon.

“There you are!” Leon says as Merlin reaches him, “Come on, there’s a meeting.”

“A meeting?”

“Yes. Come on.” Leon wraps his hand firmly around Merlin’s elbow and pulls. Merlin stumbles after him, feeling a bit like a ragdoll.

He recognizes the hallway to his room after a few moments, and digs his heels in, “I’m not a prisoner. You can’t just lock me in.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. Once we’re done here you can go back to pestering people.” Leon says tiredly, and pushes him through the open doors.

A small man is standing in the middle of the room, peering at Merlin through thick spectacles. He has cord with knots tied in it hanging around his neck, and footstool to stand on.

“Now what?” Merlin says, trying not to whine.

“This is the royal tailor. He’s here to measure you for your new wardrobe.”

“Why do I need a new wardrobe?”

“Because, as Common Consort, you have duties that will require you to be presented a certain way.” Leon responds, “And you have one spare change of clothes.”

“So? I’m only here for three years, and then after that all of these specially tailored clothes are useless. I can’t wear court attire to patch rooves, or plow the fields. It would be a waste of fabric!”

“You need more clothes.” Leon retorts.

“Then give me cast offs!”

“That wouldn’t be appropriate. No cast offs will look nice enough when you have to make presentations to the council.” 

“Give me the king’s cast offs then!” Merlin nearly shouts.

Leon stares at him, “You want to wear the king’s clothes?”

“You can’t tell me that he doesn’t have a few things at the back of his wardrobe that don’t fit right any longer, or have been forgotten for other clothes.”

“They would still have to be tailored to fit you properly.” Leon says wearily.

“I can live with that compromise if you can.”

“Get your measurements, and I will talk to the King.”

“Talk to the King, and then I’ll get my measurements.” Merlin insists, “I don’t trust you not to get my measurements and then get useless clothes made for me anyway.”

To Merlin’s surprise, Leon laughs. It isn’t a half ass chuckle either, it is genuine and openmouthed. He drags a hand through his curls, and grins at Merlin, “Too clever for your own good.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“I think you will find that that doesn’t surprise me.”

*

The next day passes in a similar fashion. He finds ways to make himself useful. He helps Gwen with her extra chores, and he hides in the kitchens and fetches things for Cook when she doesn’t have enough space for all the ingredients on her table. He even finds himself gathering herbs for Gaius, and those are his favorite moments. No one bothers him when he’s on the outskirts of the woods bordering the citadel, and he can pretend he’s back home in Ealdor, and not in Camelot about to get married. That night, he gets dragged to the tavern with Gwaine, and makes a killing at dice.

Camelot might turn out to be okay after all.

He has to reject several courting gifts over the course of the next two days. Whose bright idea was it give him a bloody emerald? He can’t sell it anywhere once he’s finished in Camelot, and it will just sit in his house back in Ealdor getting dusty.

He’s just heading out with a bag of potions for evening delivery on behalf of Gaius, when Leon corners him again. He probably should have expected it given that the wedding is tomorrow, but it still annoys him. He ducks under Leon’s arm, and tries to continue on his way, but Leon catches him by the back of his shirt and pulls him close. Merlin feels like a kitten being dragged by its mother.

“Please be cooperative,” Leon pleads, “Lord Lionel is in your room, and if I don’t show up with you in the next few minutes, he might revoke my knighthood.”

Merlin wracks his mind for Lord Lionel. The name sounds vaguely familiar. 

“Can he do that?”

“I think only the King can, but I wouldn’t past it Lionel to needle Arthur about punishing me.”

Merlin relents then. For as much trouble as he’s caused, he doesn’t want Leon to get punished for something he didn’t do. Merlin will just have to suck it up.

He pokes his head back into Gaius’s chambers and smiles apologetically, “I’ve been summoned.”

“No matter. I can get a page this once.” Gaius says and waves him away.

Merlin walks back to his room with Leon, or walks isn’t quite the right word. Leon is practically jogging in his hurry, and Merlin only keeps up because of his ridiculous legs. He wishes Will was here so he could rub it in his face. Long limbs are useful in a castle if not on a farm.

When they enter, Merlin instantly remembers who Lord Lionel is. Pompous Ass himself stand in the middle of the room looking just as unctuous as when he first arrived in Ealdor. He is surrounded by attendants, all laden with various tools.

“Thank you, Sir Leon.” Pompous Ass says with a false smile, “You may leave us.”

Merlin turns to Leon with wide eyes, and shakes his head with tiny little movements. He mouths “Don’t you dare.” Leon’s face crinkles apologetically for a moment, then he leaves the room. Traitor.

When he turns back, all trace of friendliness has dropped from Pompous Ass’s face. He looks down his nose at Merlin, and Merlin has to cram his fists into his pockets to avoid decking him. He may not be a trained fighter like Leon, but he could probably take one noble who has never known a day of hard work.

“We certainly have our work cut out for us.” He sneers, then turns to start directing the attendants.

A bath is dragged into the center of the room, and filled with steaming water. One of the attendants adds a few drops of something that makes the whole thing smell strongly of chamomile, and it makes Merlin want to strangle someone for the waste. They probably don’t realize all of the medicinal properties. He knew that even before working with Gaius.

“Get in.” Pompous Ass orders.

“It’s in the middle of the room.” Merlin points out.

Pompous Ass looks at him like he’s conversing with a simpleton, “I am well aware of the tub’s position.”

Merlin crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. Let him struggle with Merlin’s will as much as Leon has. Merlin is not going to be naked in front of a bunch of strangers. Pompous Ass glares back at him. Merlin nods his head towards the door.

“Everyone wait for me in the hall.” Pompous Ass directs, eye twitching.

“You too.” Merlin says calmly.

Pompous Ass sends him another mutinous glare, and leaves with the servants. Merlin isn’t a fool. He knows that any second now Pompous Ass will come bursting back in undeterred. Good thing he’s been making things move since he was in the cradle. He levitates the tub off the floor, and maneuvers it behind the changing screen. It will give him a little privacy.

Sure enough, just as he gets his trousers off and he’s about to step in, the door to his room opens with a creak. He drops into the tub, and lets out an appreciative sigh. He’ll admit that warm water feels much better than a quick scrub in the river. It’s just always too much of hassle to lug a bucket at a time to the house, even with the use of his magic.

He lets the sharp orders from Pompous Ass wash over him. For the time being he’s not being told to do anything, and he’s going to use that opportunity to enjoy the bath. He’s almost asleep, and he blames that on why he missed the attendant coming around the screen.

Suddenly a hand clasps his heel, and he kick out wildly, startling out of his relaxation. The poor attendant has stumble away to avoid getting kicked in the nose, and Merlin does feel a bit guilty about that. He’s just doing what he’s told, he doesn’t deserve to be kicked for his troubles.

“Sorry. You scared me.” Merlin admits softly, “What the hell were you doing?”

“Shaving you, sir.” The attendant answers.

“Why are you shaving me?” Merlin asks as another attendant comes around the screen.

“So that you are more appealing to the king, sir.” The attendant answers, apparently missing the battle Merlin is having with the other attendant trying to smear something on his face.

Merlin manages to catch both wrists in his hands, and leans as far back as he can, “What are _you_ doing?”

The second attendant frowns, “Applying lotion to your face, sir.”

“Why?”

“So that the makeup we apply tomorrow for your wedding stays better, sir.”

“Why—no don’t tell me.” Merlin sighs, “So that I am more appealing for the King?”

“Yes sir.” The second attendant answers brightly, as the first tries to get Merlin to uncurl his legs from his chest.

“Right. Is your king aware that I am a man?” he asks, loudly enough that Pompous Ass can hear.

“I believe so, sir.” The second attendant answers.

“And he knows I’m not a child?”

“Of course. Only those of marrying age were considered, sir.” The first attendant answers.

“Then why on earth would I want to look like a young girl for our wedding?” Merlin asks, nearly shouting now just to be extra sure Pompous Ass hears.

It has the reaction he was hoping. Pompous Ass comes tearing around the screen, properly fuming. He draws himself to his full, rather un-intimidating, height so he can glare down at Merlin in the bath.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing. Just… it’s a little weird of your king to want me to be a hairless girl in order to find me attractive, don’t you think?”

Pompous Ass splutters something that sounds like ‘ungrateful’, or maybe ‘lowlife’. Merlin just watches him placidly. Pompous Ass takes a calming breath.

“If you continue to be uncooperative, we will cease to help you.”

“Really? Then get out.” Merlin says and jerks his chin towards the door. Pompous Ass stumbles back, mouth agape. Then he stiffens again, mouth snapping shut, trying to play it off like it was his idea to leave.

“I will leave one attendant behind for when you’re done. You need to be shown how to dress on the formal marriage clothes since you insist on dressing yourself.” The way he says ‘dressing yourself’ makes it sound like his milk has gone bad.

Then the collection of attendants sent to make him pretty all leave on his heels, and Merlin is left to bathe in peace. He sinks lower in the water, and murmurs a warming spell under his breath. He sighs happily, and lets his eyes slip closed.

He does not think about how tomorrow he will be a married man.


	4. Chapter 4

_3 Days Until Wedding_  
Arthur looks up as Leon steps into his chambers, and his heart skips a beat. If Leon is here at this time of day, then that can only mean that the consort has been chosen. Somehow he thought it would take longer than an afternoon. He trusts Leon’s judgement, but seems rather quick to pick his husband for the next three years.

“My lord, I have news.” Leon says, but his face looks worn.

“Is there something wrong?” Arthur asks, gesturing for Leon to take a seat.

Leon sits, and pours himself some of the wine that was brought up with Arthur’s lunch. Arthur doesn’t mind really, they’re brothers in arms after all, but Leon day drinking is worrying in its own right. That title belongs to Gwaine. Leon takes a long pull, and then sighs.

“Nothing is wrong exactly. I have chosen your consort, and I think you will work well with him given time…”

Arthur can hear the unspoken ‘but’, and raises an eyebrow. Leon holds up under the scrutiny for only a moment before sagging back in his chair.

“But he is awfully stubborn. He refuses to have a manservant.”

Arthur blinks then sits back in his own chair, “As a member of the royal household, he is entitled to a servant.”

“I tried to inform him of that, and the duties of a manservant, but he kept insisting that he can do all the work himself. He kept reminding me that if he was meant to be here as a commoner, then he was going to stay a commoner.” Leon sounds almost pained.

“Well we can’t make him accept a servant. I will admit that I like the idea of not having to pay the salary of another servant when we barely have enough to cover the road repairs needed after the heavy snows,” Arthur says, “Other than that, is he settling in alright?”

Leon nods, “I showed him the kitchens, sire, and that seemed to cheer him up.”

Arthur’s stomach clenches, “Was he so down about his future before?”

He had specifically asked for volunteers, assuming that they would have the least to leave behind. The way Leon talks, though, makes it sounds like this young man is decidedly unhappy about this arrangement. It’s one thing for Arthur to be unhappy, kings often are, but it is another thing entirely for an innocent young man to be dragged into the misery.

Leon smiles reassuringly, “Merlin is simply a strong-headed young man. I think he was under the impression he’d be kicked out the second he arrived, so being chosen came as a bit of a shock.”

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. Things aren’t as bad as all that.

“Well we can proceed with the courting gifts. The tailor is standing by to get his measurements.”

“Yes, Sire.” Leon says and levers himself out of the chair. With that he sweeps out of the room to continue with his duties, and Arthur returns to reading the reports for tomorrow’s council meeting.

About an hour later, Morgan sweeps in and takes the seat Leon just vacated. She has one of her ‘I know something you don’t’ smiles that irked him so much as children. He’s gotten better at ignoring them now that he’s older.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” he asks mildly.

Morgana shrugs one elegant shoulder, “I prefer bursting in unannounced, you never know what you might learn.”

Arthur sets the documents aside, and raises his eyebrows, “Do you have something to tell me, Morgana?”

“I do, actually. I just had the delight of meeting your future consort.”

Arthur sits up straighter, desperate for any information on this elusive Merlin. If he plays it right, he can get Morgana to tell him. She’s always liked sharing secrets as much as collecting them, and she’s always enjoyed pranks even more. Maybe he can get her to ally herself against Leon.

“I thought Leon left him in his room to rest.”

“Oh he did, which is why I’m sure I heard Leon calling after him almost as soon as he left my quarters.”

“What the hell was he doing in your quarters?”

Morgana rolls her eyes, “Nothing untoward, I assure you. He decided to help Gwen with the sheets.”

“Why was he doing that?”

“He said he was just sitting in his room. Seems like he likes to be useful.”

Arthur nods, considering what Leon told him earlier, “Apparently he is refusing the help of a manservant. He insists he can do it all by himself.”

“Independent as well.” Morgana says with a growing smirk, “If you don’t kill each other, then I think you’ll get on.”

“What does that mean?” 

“Only that he’s rather cute. Leon knows your type well.”

“A little more information would be useful.” Arthur says.

Morgana simply raises an eyebrow, and pours herself some wine from the pitcher Arthur still hasn’t touched himself. Just as she rests it on the warm wood of the table, Arthur’s chamber door opens and once more admits Leon.

“I have a request, my lord.”

“Go ahead.”

“Would you happen to have any cast offs that you are willing to part with?” Leon asks. Looking hopeful.

Arthur’s brow scrunches in confusion, “Why do you need my cast offs?”

“Merlin was refusing the offer of a new wardrobe.”

Morgana lets out an unladylike snort, and hides behind her goblet. Evil woman.

“So he wants my cast offs?”

“Yes. It was the compromise we came to. He pointed out that it would be just a waste of fabric to make new ones as he’d have to leave them all behind when he returned home at the end of the contract.”

Arthur can see now why Leon resorted to day drinking earlier. He thinks, guiltily, that perhaps he should raise his stipend a bit for dealing with this pigheaded fool Merlin. 

“I’ll ask George when he comes by later.” Arthur promises, but Leon grimaces in response. Arthur sighs and says, “Just spit it out Leon.”

“He’s refusing to get his measurements taken until I procure the clothes. He says he doesn’t trust me not to take his measurements and give him a whole new wardrobe anyway.”

At this Morgana’s smirk widens into a full grin. Apparently her approval of Merlin is now set in stone. Anyone who thinks up a good scheme is a delight in her book. Arthur glares at her, but she simply takes an innocent sip of wine.

“Fine. Give me a moment.” Arthur grumbles.

He yanks open his wardrobe, and pulls out all of his tunics and trousers. Merlin will just have to be on his own when it comes to smallclothes. He lays everything out on his bed, and looks down at the collection. His eyes are drawn to the purple tunic Uther commissioned for him that he wore only to make him happy. That one can definitely go to Merlin.

In the end he give Merlin one pair of trousers, the purple tunic, an old red tunic that he wore before he became a knight, and a grey-blue tunic that always a little too itchy. It isn’t much, but it’s more than this Merlin had before.

Leon lets out a relieved sigh, and gathers them all into his arms without bothering to wait to ask for a servant’s help. He says a quick thank you, then hurries away down the hall.

When Arthur turns, Morgana is still there smirking at him. He redoubles his glare.

“Shut up.”

“Not a word.” She says with far too much amusement.

_2 Days Until Wedding_

That turns out not to be the end of Merlin’s stubbornness about his position. Leon returns at least three a day to explain why he couldn’t complete an errand. Once it was because Merlin refused to leave Gwen alone with the extra chores, another time was because Merlin was helping cook and she refused to let him out of his promise of help. The last time, Arthur is still trying to fully grasp.

“So it took you this long because you couldn’t find him?” Arthur asks.

Leon nods, eyeing the dinner wine, “He left to gather herbs for Gaius.”

“And when you did find him, he refused to come with you.”

“He kept insisting that he needed to drop the herbs off first. I tried dragging him, but he became impossible to budge.”

“And after that you…” Arthur trails off.

“I threatened to toss him over my shoulder if he didn’t cooperate. Then he smiled at me and said not to threaten him with a good time.”

Arthur groans and tries to keep himself from smacking his head on the table, “How much time has he spent with Gwaine?”

“They may have gone to the tavern together last night, Sire.”

“What happened after you finally got him back to his room?”

“I presented him with the consort’s emerald pendant, and he said he was disappointed in me, and handed it back. I just… left after that.”

“So he rejected it?” Arthur summarizes. 

“Yes.”

“Who rejects a priceless jewel?”

“Sire, perhaps may I make a suggestion?”

“At this point your advice is more than welcome.”

“I know the gifts are traditional to Camelot, but maybe you should give them up. Merlin clearly values usefulness, or sentiment.”

“What makes you think Merlin is sentimental?” Arthur asks, sitting forward in his chair.

“He has a little dragon figurine perched in his wardrobe. It’s clearly a child’s toy, but he takes care of it. I think it’s safe to say someone made it for him.”

“What would you suggest I get him?”

“I saw him locking away a book away when I went into his room once. He said Gaius gave it to him when he was last in Ealdor. Maybe ask Gaius to order another one like it?”

“What would I do without you, Leon?” Arthur asks gratefully.

Leon chuckles and shrugs, “You’d have to listen to Morgana.”

“God help us all.”

_The Day Before the Wedding_

The day before Arthur’s wedding goes smoothly. There are no interruptions from Leon to update him on Merlin’s behavior, Gaius promises to look into procuring Merlin another book like the one he has, and the council actually shut up long enough to listen to him. It’s possibly the smoothest day he’s had since he became king.

He should have known better than to think it would last. He sends Leon off to find Merlin so that he can go through the consort preparations Lord Lionel insisted on in the post-council discussion of the wedding. About two hours after that, there’s a frantic knock at the door.

“Come in!” Arthur calls, swinging out of bed to stand by the fire in his room.

Lord Lionel bustles in upon the command, looking self-important and outraged. These are not expressions unusual on his face, but it is unusual that he came to see Arthur so late at night. He almost wants to pull the ‘I’m getting married tomorrow’ card to get out of whatever petty discussion this is. He refrains, and Lord Lionel closes the door behind himself. His smile turns oily as he approaches.

“Sire, I wish to discuss your impending marriage.” Lord Lionel says, wringing his hands.

_Oh for God’s Sake. What now?_

“Speak your piece, Lord Lionel, I am in need of rest.” Arthur says stonily.

“Far be it from me to question the judgement of your closest knight,” Lord Lionel says in a tone that clearly states that’s exactly what he’s about to do, “I am only concerned about the appropriateness of the young man in question. It is well known that he rejects the thoughtful gifts you provide him, and he has a habit of saying the most uncouth things.”

“Are you going to give me an example of what he’s said, ore are you here to sabotage a union I rely on to win peace with Lothian?”

A flash of annoyance contorts Lord Lionel’s face before he can stop it, but then he smooths it into something concerned and ingratiating. Arthur considers putting Lionel’s head through a window. Nothing new there.

“He implied some foul things about your person, sire.”

“Exact words, Lord Lionel, or I am going to ask a guard to escort you out for me.”

“Of course. Of course.” Lionel says, backing off, “I was in his room just now to prepare his person for tomorrow. He did not allow my attendants to complete our work, and had the audacity to imply that you wanted him to look like a young girl.”

“Explain to me again what the preparations for consort are.” 

“We were going to shave him for you, Sire, and apply lotion tonight so we could apply makeup tomorrow. It is traditional. Even your mother—”

Arthur holds a hand up, feeling a bit queasy, “I don’t want to think about the mother I never met being shaved head to toe, thank you. In fairness to Merlin, both of those are designed to make him look younger and more feminine. I expect neither from him. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave me to my rest.”

Lord Lionel nods and backs out of the room, leaving Arthur on his own. Once the door is firmly shut a small grin spreads over his face. Merlin may be driving everyone out of their mind, but he’s also the only person Arthur has heard of that has successfully driven Lord Lionel out of their space. He admires that skill even if the wedding goes disastrously.

_The Day of the Wedding_

George shuffles into his room bright and early, and rouses Arthur from his sleep. There’s a heavy breakfast since it is unlikely he will get to eat again until the wedding feast tonight. He forces himself to choke it down. Passing out at the altar would only serve to embarrass him, and make the council worry that he was unfit to rule.

“Are you nervous, Sire?” George asks politely, “I only ask because Gaius informed me he could send up a tonic for your nerves if it was a bit overwhelming.”

“No, George, thank you.” Arthur says, and allows George to tug his sleeping tunic over his head.

George inclines his head, picture perfect servant, and then helps Arthur into the tub. The water has grown slightly tepid in its time sitting out, but Arthur knows better than to ask for another pitcher to warm it up. It would only send George into a tizzy, and an overly attentive George is the last thing he wants to deal with today.

Bath completed, George helps him shave off the light shadow of beard that grew in the last few days when he was too busy with council matters and trying to settle things with Merlin to tend to it properly. Next he dresses in his wedding garb. He would much rather have just worn his armor, but Lot is going to be there and he doesn’t want to appear guarded about the prospect of the Common Consort.

George smooths out the shoulders of his cape, and nods approvingly. Arthur trusts Leon’s judgement about all things personal, and war related, and he trusts George to make him look his best. He’s detail oriented to a fault.

Arthur takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He feels more nervous about this than any tourney he has ever fought in. At least at tourneys the outcome isn’t settled, you have to be on your toes and prepared, but you have some control in the moment. This is completely out of his hands. He is going to get married because he can’t risk war with Lothian and the north.

Leon pokes his head in, and smiles reassuringly, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Arthur admits.

Together, they leave Arthur’s chambers behind. It’s weird to think that the next time he returns to them, he’ll have another man in tow. He’ll have a husband. He’ll _be_ a husband.

He enters the great hall before most of the guests. Servants were up most of the night it seems, wrapping the pillars in garlands. It looks nicer than Arthur feels. Geoffrey waits for them on the dais, and Arthur takes his position on the step below. Geoffrey gives his shoulder a bolstering squeeze, but his stern expression doesn’t change.

The last of the guests file in along the sides of the aisle. The minstrels begin to play, and Arthur’s heartbeat kicks up a few more beats. He thinks Leon might whisper something encouraging, but it’s impossible to hear over the sound of his blood in his ears.

The double doors open, and Merlin steps though. Arthur’s breath catches in his throat.

Merlin is gorgeous. Willowy, but strong. Dark hair, high cheek bones, stubborn eyes. Damn Leon for knowing him so well.

Merlin’s eyes flicker nervously to the crowd, but he keeps pushing forward. The red doublet emphasizes the strength in his narrow frame, and Arthur finds it hard to believe that three days ago Merlin was being escorted out of a tiny village. He catches sight of the blue scarf at Merlin’s neck, and his heart jumps in his chest. He’s strangely proud of giving Merlin a gift that he didn’t reject.

Merlin mounts the steps to come stand equal with Arthur, jaw set. When they make eye contact, Merlin offers a brief nervous smile, and refocuses on Geoffrey. Arthur does the same. He’ll have plenty of time to look Merlin over later. Right now, he needs to get married.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin wakes with the sunrise, not that he much got sleep to begin with. Everything in him is telling him to run, to get out of there before he signs away the next three years of his life to a man he doesn’t know. He squashes the instinct down as hard as he can. He may not like the idea of having to stay in Camelot, but better him than someone else. He volunteered because his leaving didn’t leave Ealdor vulnerable. The same can’t be said for the next pour soul after him if he does a runner. 

He drags himself out of bed, and goes to stand by the window. Below him he can see people scurrying about like ants in order to set up for the— _his_ wedding feast. A feast to celebrate a marriage is actually one of the few noble traditions he’s understood. They had them in Ealdor too, although it’s been ages since anyone got married. Their feast was probably much more modest than the impending one, more a collection of what the neighbors could provide than anything else. Still, weddings are a cause for celebration. Usually.

He drags a hand through his hair, then pushes away from the window. No use torturing himself over the preparations. He tried to help bring in the garlands yesterday, and had nearly gotten his head bitten off for the trouble. He’s avoided the whole process since then.

He changes into his regular clothes, and exits his room. It’s early enough that the usual buns that Cook makes should still be warm from the oven. That will be the one thing he actually misses when he leaves Camelot, fresh bread daily. His mother’s bread is delicious, but they have to make a whole loaf last as long as they can, and usually by the end it is so stale it is almost hard. Here, soft fresh bread every morning.

He might miss Gwaine too, come to think of it. It was like Gwaine took one look at him and decided they were going to be inseparable. There’s something comforting about that. Sure, he had Will back at home, but there was always a nagging feeling that they were only so close because they had no one else their age to play with growing up. With Gwaine, Merlin knows that they didn’t have to be stuck together, but they chose to be anyway.

He enters the kitchen, and has to duck as a tray of what looks like tarts go sailing over his head. The young man bearing the tray glares at him for getting in the way, and hurries on his way without missing a beat. He has to dodge two more tray of tarts before he gets to Cook’s side.

She frowns at him disapprovingly when she sees him, “What do you think you’re doing, young man?”

“Getting breakfast?” Merlin says uncertainly, raising his hands in surrender.

“You’re not meant to fetch your own food on your wedding day. You’re meant to be lazing about, getting yourself all pretty.” She waves a wooden spoon in his face threateningly. Say what you will about the knights being trained to kill since birth, but Cook with her spoon could probably scare off an entire army if she was so inclined.

“I’m not getting pretty.” Merlin explains.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means that I’m a man, and one that doesn’t wear makeup.” Merlin defends himself, “The King is marrying a country bumpkin, he may as well get used to looking at one.”

Cook eyes him in way that isn’t exactly approving, but she doesn’t look offended at his deliberate flouting of Camelot tradition either. Finally she cracks a small smile, and ducks below the counter to retrieve something. When she straightens, she’s holding a plate of buns.

“I put some nuts and dried fruit in, to celebrate.” She says and passes him the plate. 

Merlin grins at her. He knew getting on her good side would be worth all the peeling and fetching he’d have to do. He snags one of the buns off the plate, and tries to pass it back to her. She presses it back into his hands.

“I can’t eat these all.” Merlin protests.

She frowns at him, “You will take the whole plate or I will chase you out of here with a mushroom.”

Merlin grimaces. The last thing he needs on his wedding day is a mushroom rash. He thanks her profusely, then hurries back up the stairs to his room. He passes a few servants on the way, but thankfully they don’t stop to congratulate him. The nice thing about insisting he continue to dress like a commoner is that he was mostly able to slip by unnoticed. Combine that with helping others with their chores, or delivering potions for Gaius, most people assume he’s a new servant. He prefers it that way.

He enters his chambers once more, and deposits the plate on the table. He munches on one of the buns thoughtfully as he heads for the wardrobe. The offending red doublet still hangs where it was last night, and Merlin glares at it. Leon promised that it was a cast off of Arthur’s –apparently Uther had a tendency to order clothes to be made for his children without asking for their input and Arthur had worn it once to make him happy—but the fact that Merlin now owns something made of velvet feels wrong. If Will were here, he’d be going on about wasteful lords while laughing himself silly over how ridiculous Merlin looked in it.

He misses Will. It’s been strange the last few days to wake up without him barging in with fresh eggs.

Merlin crams the last of the bun into his mouth and dusts the crumbs from his fingers. He’ll sweep up later so he doesn’t get mice. Then he lifts the doublet out of the wardrobe and lays it out flat on the bed. He’s putting off dressing as long as he can, but he’s still reluctant. Getting dressed feels like giving in.

He sighs, then strips off his brown jacket. He’s had it for ages, and it’s almost like an old friend. Absurdly he wishes he could wear it to the ceremony. He struggles into the doublet, silently cursing himself for being so deadest against help last night. But if the tradeoff for help getting into this thing is to be presented to court all gussied up like a fool, he’ll take the struggle.

He manages to get the laces tied just as there’s a knock at the door. He walks over to it and opens it while still struggling to tug the fabric straight. Whoever it is, they giggle at his losing battle. Merlin looks up, and is met by the sight of Gwen shaking her head and trying to hide an amused grin.

“You do realize you’ve done it up all wrong?” she asks.

Merlin drops his hands from the doublet, face crinkling in annoyance, “I thought that was the problem.”

“Oh go on," Gwen says, taking pity, “I’ll help you.”

Merlin grins at her and steps aside to let her in. She closes the door, sets a thin box on the table, then turns to face Merlin. She tries to keep her amusement from showing, but she keeps letting little giggles escape every time she has to unlace the doublet further. Merlin can’t stop from snorting too. He’s a mess, and it is pretty funny.

Gwen glances up at him just as he glances down. Their eyes meet. Gwen’s smile spreads. Merlin snorts, and bites his lip. 

“Stop it! I can’t help you if you make me laugh!” Gwen says indignantly, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“You’re the one who keeps giggling!” Merlin responds, laughter bubbling in his chest.

It’s a lost cause. Gwen dissolves into laughter, gasping for air so hard that she wheezes. Merlin isn’t any better, wiping tears from his eyes. Gwen sucks in another breath, and smacks Merlin’s chest.

Okay. So maybe he’d miss Gwen too.

She re-laces his doublet so it sits properly, and steps back to admire her work. She nods once, then reaches up to smooth out Merlin’s hair. He’s never been prone to bedhead, but he’s been running his fingers through it since last night so it probably looks a right mess. Apparently satisfied with her ministrations, Gwen steps away again and retrieves the box from the table.

“For you.” 

“Gwen, you didn’t need to give me anything.”

“As it happens,” she says with a small tilt of her head, “I didn’t. That’s from Arthur.”

Merlin groans and holds the box out to her, “No! No more gifts! I’ve been rejecting them all since I arrived!”

Gwen smiles softly, and pats him on the arm, “I know, but this you will like. I promise.”

“If I don’t, then I get to hold you responsible.” He warns.

Gwen just shakes her head.

Merlin sends her a suspicious glare, and she raises her eyebrows. No hint then. Right. He lifts the lid from the box, ands blinks in surprise. Nestled inside is a scarf. It’s blue like one of the ones he has already, but not stained or worn thin from years of use. It’s soft, and perhaps a bit thick for the weather, but Camelot is further north than Ealdor. It will come in handy in winter. 

“So?” Gwen prompts.

“I love it.” Merlin says softly, lifting up a section if it so he can get a better look.

“Good. He was hoping you would wear it for the wedding.”

“Are you sure? What if it gets stained at the feast?”

Gwen takes it from him, ignoring his protests, and ties it neatly around his neck, tucking the bottom into the slightly open collar of the doublet. She gazes at him with wide eyes when she steps away to once more look over the image he makes.

“That bad?” Merlin asks self-consciously. Fisher and Will were always considered the handsome ones of the village. Merlin was too gawky, too strange to earn any kind of attraction. Freya had loved him once, but they both learned quickly that it was a strange sort of gratitude for saving her life. He doesn’t want to think what it might mean if he disappoints the king this late in the proceedings.

Gwen shakes her head, “No. You look… beautiful.”

Merlin ducks his head with a nervous chuckle, “Thanks Gwen.”

“We should go before you’re late. I don’t want Lord Lionel tracking us down.” 

“Wait,” Merlin pauses on their way out to scoop up the plate of buns cook pushed on him, “Will you make sure you split this with some of the other servants? I tried to tell her I couldn’t eat them all, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Leave them. I’ll come by after the ceremony and distribute them to those of us working tonight.”

Merlin leaves the plate behind and follows Gwen to the grand double doors of the great hall. He’s filled with a familiar buzz of irritation as he approaches them. A few days ago these doors were a mild inconvenience to his daily life in Ealdor, now they represent a major deviation. He hates these double doors, he _hates_. He has to cling to the threads of the magic that threaten to splinter them into thousands of pieces. That would not be the ideal way to reveal his magic to his future husband.

Gwen pats him in the shoulder comfortingly, then slips inside with the last of the servants. Merlin is alone in the hallway except for the door guards. He rocks anxiously on his toes, and offers them both nervous smiles which they don’t acknowledge. 

Finally, the doors open. A guard jerks his head towards the hall, and Merlin takes this as his cue to enter. The second he enters, all eyes are on him. His magic, already trying to assert itself after the close call with the door, roars to the surface in response to Merlin’s desire to be rendered invisible.

This many eyes on him has never been safe. There were this many eyes on him before the older boys shoved him into a half-frozen lake in winter when he was twelve. There were this many eyes on him when he killed Kanen, and even Will wasn’t sure if he could trust Merlin for a time. There were this many eyes on him when he left Ealdor to come here, and fulfill this stupid contract.

He is starkly reminded of the time he actually made himself invisible. He’d been fifteen, and Will had dared him to do it. It had taken him days to become visible again, and right at the end he’d been so scared that no one would be able to see him again that he couldn’t breathe.

He takes his eyes off the assembled faces, and focuses his attention on the end of the aisle. The man at the end is the only thing that matters right now anyway. Merlin wants a good look at him before he gets there, just so he can brace himself.

He needn’t have bothered. King Arthur is handsome. All broad shoulders, golden hair, noble nose. He reminds Merlin a bit of Fisher. They’d been together, once, behind Old Man Simmons’ barn, and Merlin had been in love with him for months after the fact. Fisher had similar shoulders, and the same confidence. Really, though, the similarities stopped there. Fisher had had brown hair, and he never looked this noble in his life.

Merlin supposes there are worse things than being attracted to the man you’re married to.

He reaches the end of the aisle, and mounts the couple steps to stand beside Arthur. He keeps his eyes focused on the old man in front of them. He recites some words about commitment, and loyalty. Then Arthur kisses him, so quick Merlin doesn’t have time to react. Then Arthur’s hand is resting on his lower back, and is sweeping him from the hall. It takes until the double doors close behind them for him to realize that they’re married.

They don’t get the chance to talk much at the feast that night. Arthur is too busy with the various lords and ladies coming to pay their congratulations, and give them wedding gifts. Nearly all of them are for Arthur himself, and Merlin is oddly grateful for that. He doesn’t want to think what the nobility thought a young man from Ealdor would need. With his luck, it would be a pig or something equally as ridiculous. The Lady Morgana is the only one to include something for him as well.  
She hands Arthur a box, and smiles with a curve of mischievousness to her lips. Merlin knows it has more to do with Morgana wanting to annoy her brother, than actually paying congratulations by that look alone. The delight in her eyes when Arthur glares at her only confirms Merlin’s theory.

Arthur passes the box to him, and grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘harpy’. Inside the box are two rings, obviously meant to be wedding bands. They hadn’t bothered with them at the ceremony because the marriage had a deadline, but apparently that doesn’t stand in the way of Morgana trying to be embarrassing.

“Do we have to wear these?” Merlin asks quietly after Morgana leaves. It feels wrong to wear bands when they aren’t really committed to each other.

“You will learn, Merlin,” Arthur says with a small sneer in his voice, “that ignoring my sister’s pranks is your best defense against them.”

“So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no.” Arthur agrees, shooting him an annoyed glare.

Merlin feels the attraction curling through his chest sour. The tone is really uncalled for. It isn’t like Merlin is any happier about this situation than Arthur is. Merlin glares right back.

He’s starting to develop a headache by the time Arthur stands. Merlin looks up at him hopefully, praying that this means they can finally leave this over packed room with the too rich food behind. To his dismay, Arthur gives a long winded speech. Merlin tunes it all out. He catches something about strengthening ties, and unity, but he doesn’t really pay attention until Arthur says his name. His heart flips uncertainly in his chest, worried that he’s been caught not paying attention like when Mary’s Father was teaching them all to read, but Arthur is only talking about them as couple.

“Merlin and I are committed to this new way of communicating to our people, and we appreciate the support you have all provided by being here tonight.” Arthur says and Merlin wrinkles his nose. The people aren’t _his_ any more than the ocean is his. That doesn’t seem to bother Arthur any. The prat smiles winningly at his court, even turning it on Merlin for a moment, then finishes, “With that, we leave you to enjoy your revelry. Goodnight.”

Merlin scrambles to his feet, and follows Arthur from the great hall. The corridor outside is blissfully cool and when the doors shut behind them, it’s also silent. He sags tiredly against the cold stone of the wall, and just breathes. He feels like he’s settling back into his skin after hours. 

When he opens his eyes, Arthur is watching him. Merlin offers him an awkward smile and straightens up. Neither of them seem inclined to continue their trajectory, and the silence hangs heavy between them.

On instinct, Merlin holds his hands out and grins, “I’m Merlin.”

Arthur’s brow crinkles, “I know. We were just married, or did you miss that?”

Merlin drops his hand, and fixed Arthur with a flat look, “Excuse me, _sire_. I thought you might want to actually be introduced.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “I hardly need an introduction to my husband.”

“Great. If that’s the case, then I am going back to my room. Goodnight.” Merlin snaps, and walks in the opposite direction of where Arthur was headed.

“Wait!” Arthur calls, and Merlin comes up short, glancing over his shoulder so he doesn’t give Arthur the satisfaction of turning all the way around, “Traditionally, you’re meant to spend the first night in my chambers.”

Merlin sighs, turns around, and follows Arthur through the castle. Neither of them say a word as they go, their almost argument still heavy in the air. The guards step aside to let them into Arthur’s chambers, and suddenly the two of them are properly alone for the first time.

Apparently looking for something to do, Arthur pours them both some water, and Merlin gulps it down gratefully. He tried to stay away from the wine, but that meant he was dying of thirst. Some of the headache recedes.

“Why are you so focused on tradition anyway?” Merlin asks after his third cup, “It’s not like we’re married in the traditional sense.”

Arthur deposits his crown on his table and leans against it, looking older than his years, “Lot already let me off the hook by only forcing me to be married for three years. I need everything else to be as traditional as possible to appease him.”

“Lot? That king from up north?"

Arthur looks surprised that Merlin knows who he’s talking about, “The very one. This was the cost of doing peace. He was worried that I was disconnected from my people."

“Well if your gifts are anything to go by…”

“Those were all quality gifts!” Arthur shouts, “It’s not my fault you’re too much of an idiot to appreciate them!”

“You tried to give me a bloody emerald! What the hell am I supposed to do that when I go back to Ealdor?”

“Did you really tell Lord Lionel that I was attracted to young girls?” Arthur asks out of the blue.

Merlin grimaces sheepishly, “I couldn’t figure out how else to get them to leave me alone.”

Arthur shakes his head, and turns away. He strips his cape from his shoulders next. Merlin continues to hover awkwardly by the dining table.

“Are we meant to… you know…” Merlin asks, suddenly realizing what Arthur might have meant by ‘spend the first night in my chambers’.

Arthur glances over at him, “Meant to what?”

“Consummate the marriage?” Merlin asks awkwardly.

Arthur’s whole face wrinkles in something suspiciously like terror. Merlin may not have been looking forward to it after all the glares Arthur sent him during the feast, but there’s no call for Arthur to look so upset at the idea.

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Arthur says, voice hard, “but probably yes."

Merlin’s heart softens just a bit. So maybe Arthur might be a bit of an arrogant ass, but they’re in this together. Merlin is nothing if not resourceful.

“We could just pretend.”

“Pretend?” Arthur asks, head tipped forward, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, you know, jump on the bed to make it squeak. I can moan like I’m having the time of my life.”

“Merlin!” Arthur says indignantly.

“I guess I could sob if you want a reputation as a brute.” Merlin says cheerfully.

A small smile tugs at Arthur’s lips, probably despite his better judgement. Merlin feels a bit victorious at that. “You’re strange.”

“I thought I was an idiot."

“That too.” Arthur agrees, but the smile is a little bigger, “There’s just something about you, Merlin.”

“You won’t believe the number of times I’ve heard that."


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur wakes the next morning to the unfamiliar sensation of another body in his bed. For his rather limited share of secret trysts, all of them had left long before he woke the next morning, and both parties involved preferred it that way. The nobles didn’t want to make it seem like they were trying to gain favor for their kingdoms, and the one servant had wanted to be sure he was on time for his duties. Therefore waking to the sound of deep even breathing, and the sight of dark messy hair just peeking over the bedspread, makes him strangely anxious.

He takes a moment to examine Merlin. It had been difficult to simply observe yesterday, all of the emotions were heightened and by the end of the night Arthur had grown tired of the performance he always has to put on as king. The bickering with Merlin was a relief. The only person who regularly makes their opinions known is Morgana, Leon might do so in private, but he’s always more inclined to agree with Arthur, and Arthur can never be certain if that’s because he an Leon are so similar or because Leon respects him far too much.

Merlin looks much the same as yesterday, but sleep has eased some the cheekiness Merlin uses like a shield. He’s curved towards Arthur without actually touching him, and his long fingers are tangled in the bedspread next to his hair. He shifts a little in his sleep, and the bedspread slides down just a touch. He’s wearing one of Arthur’s sleep tunics, and it’s too big on him so it exposes one of his pale collarbones. 

Arthur is brought back to the argument they had the night before. Merlin had stood up from the table late into the night when everyone was more than likely asleep, and tried to leave.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked.

“To get clothes,” Merlin responded, seemingly confused, “As nice as the doublet might look it isn’t very comfortable, and I’m not going to sleep in your bed shirtless.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “You’re not meant to leave until tomorrow. It’s—”

“Tradition.” Merlin finished, sounding extremely put upon.

“Precisely.”

After further argument, Merlin eventually agreed to borrow clothes for the night. The initial settle into bed had been awkward and strained, neither wanting to brush the other or get too comfortable. They laid on their backs staring at the ceiling for almost half an hour before Merlin finally gave in, and rolled onto his side facing away from Arthur and muttered an awkward goodnight. 

At some point in the night, Merlin must have rolled over. It gives Arthur the opportunity to properly look over the man he married. He suspects he may never be able to bring himself to use the word husband in conjunction with Merlin, but he doesn’t think Merlin will either so all is fair. Merlin looks very… human in the morning light. 

There’s a loud knock at the door, and Merlin startles awake, and props himself on his elbows. He blinks owlishly at Arthur with a faintly puzzled look before the confusion of sleep finally leaves him. He flops back down on the bed.

“It’s barely even light out, why are they waking us? It’s not like you have eggs to collect.” Merlin grumbles.

Arthur suppresses a laugh, and puts on his haughtiest tone, “Unlike some people, a king’s job is hard work.”

Merlin glares at him, but the effect is softened slightly by the sleepy haze that still clings to him, “I’ve been working plenty, thanks, and I’m not even getting paid.”

“You’ve also been giving everyone a headache,” Arthur points out as another knock echoes through the room, “Enter.”

George bustles in, carrying a breakfast tray. He sets it on the table, and bows deferentially, “I brought breakfast for yourself and Lord Merlin. Is there anything else you require, Sire?”

Merlin looks at the breakfast tray like it might bite him, and Arthur shakes his head in amusement. He should have expected Merlin to be horribly offended by breakfast in bed. It is entirely in keeping with the reports that Leon had been giving over the last several days.

“That will be all George.” Arthur dismisses, and George bows and shuffles out of the room.

Merlin sits up properly and rubs a hand over his face, “Is there any chance you could order everyone who knows me to stop referring to me as Lord Merlin?”

“And give up a valuable source of entertainment?” Arthur teases, “Not a chance.”

“You didn’t seem like such an ass when I was walking down the aisle.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur says and swings out of bed, “Come eat breakfast.”

There’s a put upon sigh from behind him, followed by the sound of bare feet on the flagstones. Arthur sits in his usual chair, and starts picking food from the plate. George brought an excellent collection of sausages, bread, and fruit, and Arthur piles his plate high with a little of it all. Merlin joins him at the table a moment later, and does the same.

Arthur watches in horror as Merlin gulps down the food without really taking time to breathe. Merlin finishes his own plate in the time it takes Arthur to get half way through his own. Merlin glances up at him then, brow crinkled with confusion.

“What?” he asks, with a defensive hunch.

“Did you even taste the food or were you swallowing it too quickly?” Arthur asks.

Merlin hunkers down in his seat and refuses to meet Arthur’s eye, “I didn’t eat much at the feast last night.”

Feeling a little guilty for possibly causing genuine embarrassment, Arthur shoves the remainder of his plate across. He’s never very hungry in the mornings anyway.

“Try not to choke,” he says stiffly, “How would it look if my consort dropped dead before I could even have a treaty signed?”

Merlin slides the plate closer to himself and begins eating again, but at a much slower place, “People would probably think you murdered me to get me to leave you alone.”

“Good thing there was a murder clause then.”

“What? Really?” Merlin asks after swallowing his bite of bread.

He somehow doesn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that his life could have hung in the balance. He really must be a fool to not even consider that if Arthur were a cruel man, Merlin’s life could have been forfeit the moment he entered into this marriage. Granted, most cruel men probably would not have asked for volunteers, or put up with Merlin’s persistent flouting of traditions and rules over the last few days. It’s the principle of the thing.

“Lot seems to have an opinion lower of me than even you.” Arthur jokes.

Merlin tilts his head, blue eyes looking very sincere, “I don’t have a low opinion of you.”

That surprises him. He assumed Merlin’s stance on nobility was similar to Gwaine’s. Namely that nobility was useless to running an actual functioning kingdom, and only sent people off to die in their stead. Arthur had only won Gwaine over by risking his own life to protect Gwaine’s a few days after their initial meeting. As mad as Gwaine drives him, he still feels it a victory to have earned the loyalty of a man so opposed to his own beliefs.

“No? You seemed to rather dislike my gifts.” 

“You can be horrible at giving gifts and still be a generally okay person,” Merlin says as though he’s imparting great wisdom, “Besides, you may be a bit out of touch with the common people, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have their best interests at heart. I lived in Ealdor before coming here, and ever since you took Essetir the bandit attacks on our village and the surrounding villages have dropped. You got married to keep your people from having to go to war again. You’re a bit of a prat, but you’re a decent king.”

The word ‘decent’ should sound dismissive, mocking all Arthur has done, but it doesn’t. Instead it sounds like the highest praise. It amazes him that Merlin can insult him and praise him in the same sentence. It should be taught as an art form.

“Thank you. That was surprisingly kind of you.”

Merlin shrugs, “Don’t get used to it. I don’t want you to get a big head.”

“Yes because that’s so likely to happen.” Arthur says dryly.

Merlin ignores him in favor of finishing his plate, and leaning back in his chair, “You know, I don’t actually know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“You agreed to marry me even though you don’t know what your duties are?”

So much for Merlin being anything other than a fool. That was one of the few lessons that Uther tried to impart that were actually useful. Never sign a treaty or document of any kind without reading it through properly.

“I didn’t want to force anyone else into this position,” Merlin says, “I thought Leon would have told you that the reason he picked me was because I knew Ealdor could survive without me.”

Just like that, Arthur’s opinion of Merlin jumps up a few notches. He has a feeling it’s going to keep jumping up and down like that for the entire time he knows Merlin. He doesn’t give the impression of a man who is easily pinned down.

“I think Leon was hoping that the less information he gave me about you and his decision process, the more likely I would be to agree to this arrangement.”

“He must have been thinking the same about me because he hasn’t said a word about what kind of duties I’m expected to perform.”

“Generally, you’ll join me in council meetings on days we discuss items that pertain to the wellbeing of the common people, and join me to hear petitions to make sure I am making the fairest ruling possible.” Arthur explains, “A report on the welfare of the common people should be presented to myself or the council whenever possible.”

“You agreed to get married for that?” Merlin asks incredulously, “Why didn’t you just create a new position on the council?”

“It would’ve been an insult to the Lothian tradition.” 

“If you say so.” Merlin says, but clearly doesn’t buy the excuse, “Anyway. I’ve already found out lots from just the few days that I’ve been here. When would you like your first report?”

“The council probably won’t be prepared to hear for several sessions yet.” 

“Does that mean I have to wait that long to report to you?”

“I suppose if you wanted to give an unofficial report that would be fine. Perhaps next week?”

Merlin considers the suggestion, and smiles, “Next week it is. First thing bright and early?”

Arthur groans and shakes his head, “God no. I don’t think I can put up with you this early in the morning again.”

Instead of getting offended like Morgana would have, Merlin laughs. It’s a short little burst of sunlight in the weak grey light of his room, “Dinner then?”

“Dinner could work.” Arthur agrees.

“We should make it a once a week thing.” Merlin suggests.

“Why?”

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but things change quickly for us peasants. One day you’re doing just fine, the next you realize the crops you harvested will barely be enough to get you through winter. You get attacked by bandits, and your pleas to the crown fall on deaf ears. Your father breaks his leg, and can’t work, and suddenly you can’t afford the food you need.” Merlin lists off.

Arthur wonders how many of these come from personal experience. Cenred was not known to be a particularly kind king. He ignored his citizens in favor of waging war for land and more power. Even Uther, for all his faults, understood that the citizens were valuable to the kingdom and should be treated as such. The concept of actual personhood may have been farfetched for him, but he always understood that they needed to be kept safe.

He knows that the comments about bandits is born of personal experience. Merlin had claimed as such when he said the attacks on Ealdor had dropped after Arthur took over Essetir. He does hope that it didn’t result in too many hungry nights for him. As annoying as he is, Arthur can see why Leon and Morgana made cryptic comments about the two of them getting on. Merlin has potential to be a friend, and Arthur has never been good about his friends’ suffering.

“Very well,” he finds himself agreeing, “we can have dinner once a week so you can report any problems that the common folk may have.”

Merlin’s grin lights up the room even brighter than his laugh, “Thank you, Sire.”

“Arthur.”

“What?”

“As we are now married, I think it’s only fair that you call me Arthur.”

Merlin’s grins shrinks a little, and instead makes Merlin look a bit like a cat that got the cream, “Okay, Arthur.”

“Oh don’t be so pleased about it,” Arthur snaps, “Gwen calls me Arthur too.”

“Let me have my victory, would you?” Merlin asks.

“I am the King of Camelot, Merlin, I don’t need to let you have anything.”

Merlin’s grin turns a bit dirty at that.

“Oh shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.” Merlin says innocently.

“Idiot.”

“Ass.”

“Must you be so rude?”

“Any chance George could bring me my clothes?” Merlin asks, apparently abandoning their spat in favor of something else.

“I thought you didn’t want a manservant.” Arthur points out, feeling a bit of satisfaction at that.

“You’re right, but my desire to avoid the walk of shame to my chambers, when I didn’t even get up to anything to be ashamed about, is greater than avoiding asking people to do tasks I can easily do myself.”

“You’ll have to ask George yourself.”

Merlin mutters something that Arthur can’t make out, but given their recent subject of discussion it’s probably something rude. Merlin stands up from the table, crosses the room, and pokes his out the double doors. He asks someone something in a low voice, and all Arthur can hear is a lot of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ interjected among the request.

Merlin ducks back inside and shakes his head at Arthur, “How you ask for people to bring your breakfast without getting horribly embarrassed is a mystery.”

“I must be made of sterner stuff than you.” 

“You’d be surprised.” Merlin says cryptically, and goes to take up Arthur’s usual spot at the window to gaze down at the castle courtyard below. 

The silence is comfortable instead of tense. Arthur thinks he and Merlin have reached a truce of sort. In his own head, he can admit that he didn’t exactly treat Merlin well last night. He’d been too tired and stressed to think of how his actions might affect the man sitting next to him. He’s glad that they were able to smooth things over in the light of day.

George returns a few moments later, carrying a pile of clothes. Arthur recognizes his own old purple tunic in the stack, but the trousers and brown jacket must be Merlin’s.

Merlin accepts the pile with a grateful smile, and a cheerful, “Thank you for your help.

Mind numbingly proper George looks vaguely uncomfortable in the face of Merlin’s trademark cheerfulness, and actually flashes Arthur an uncertain look. Arthur tries to hid his smile, but isn’t sure that he’s actually successful. George makes jokes about brass, and Arthur does not doubt that if he’d heard the way Merlin had been speaking to him a moment ago, he’d be horribly put out by it.

“That will be all, George. I can dress myself.” Arthur says, taking pity.

“Sire.” George responds with a careful nod of his head, and he once more leaves the room.

“I thought Leon was joking about you having somebody dress you.” Merlin remarks as he steps behind the changing screen.

“It is a great honor to be manservant to the king, Merlin.”

“Must be a highly sought after job.” Merlin responds, and Arthur can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic. He decides to ignore it, and instead go to his desk to look over the documents that had piled up in favor of signing off on wedding plans.

Merlin steps out from behind the changing screen, and tugging his jacket into place. Arthur looks up at him out of curiosity. It’s obvious that the clothes have been tailored to fit Merlin rather than been made for him, but that doesn’t seem to bother Merlin in the least. The brown jacket is slightly too big, and it should make Merlin look boney and thin, and it does, but it also makes him appear practical. He carries himself with an assurance he didn’t have yesterday when he was in the red doublet and fine scarf. Arthur is gratified to see that Merlin puts that very scarf back on. It goes nicely with the purple tunic, and Arthur finds himself hoping that Merlin favors that combination more often, and not just when George makes him put it on. He doesn’t know why Merlin feels the need to hide his neck in such a fashion, but it clearly puts the finishing touches on Merlin’s confidence. His shoulders settle into a proud straight line, and there’s a certain bounce to his step when he goes to retrieve his boots. These clothes make him happy, and Arthur sees now that it would be foolish to dress Merlin in anything else.

Merlin folds the doublet over his arm carefully, so as not to wrinkle it, and walks to the doors. He pauses before going through to grin at Arthur and say, “See you next week.”

Then he vanishes into the hustle and bustle of the castle corridors. Arthur smiles to himself as he looks over the documents. Leon made a good choice.


	7. Chapter 7

The days post-wedding go on much as they did before. Merlin expected something to change now that he was a married man, but apparently his identity as common consort is still just as shrouded in mystery. He’s grateful for it, if he’d had to deal with servants bowing and scraping every time he passed he might have thrown himself off the ramparts. Arthur said there was a murder clause, but he said nothing about a consort breaking his leg in an effort to get servants to leave him alone clause. Although, it would no doubt reflect poorly on Arthur if his consort made an ill-fated escape attempt after only being there less than three weeks. 

The point is, most of the servants are under the impression that he is Gaius’s assistant, and he is therefore spared from flinging himself dramatically off of a high place. He’s pretty sure his magic wouldn’t let him get too badly hurt, but he isn’t exactly eager to test this theory.

Gaius crams the last of the medicines into the satchel he uses for carrying potions, snaps it shut, and shoves it into Merlin’s arms, “When you’re done delivering these, I need you to go to the market for me. We’re running low on some of the key ingredients for cough medicine, and I would prefer not to run out of it if possible.”

“Yes, Gaius.” Merlin says dutifully, resisting the urge to point out that this is the third time he’s heard these exact instructions. Whoever his last assistant was must have been abysmal s Merlin is the better option.

He slings the satchel over his shoulders, and hurries from the room. Delivering for Gaius has turned out to be quite useful for him. Being forced to wander the corridors until he finds the right location has given him quite the extensive mental map of the place. He hardly gets lost anymore.

“Hello, Merlin!” a young maidservant calls out as Merlin passes her. Her hairs is wrapped up in an old cloth, and she seems to be trying to remove cobwebs from the top of the tall thin windows that lets in light. Merlin can’t remember her name for the life of him.

He smiles warmly, and comes to balance her step stool when it wiggles dangerously, “Hello! How is your mother?”

Names have never been his strong suit, but faces and stories stick in his mind like honey in a honeycomb. He’d helped Gaius tend to the maidservant’s mother’s twisted ankle a few days ago.

“Oh much better thanks to you and Gaius,” she says, stepping down with a duster covered in cobwebs, “If you have time, would you swing by later? She made you both some cakes as a thank you.”

“She’s not meant to be on that ankle for at least another two days. Gaius’s orders.” Merlin points out.

She shrugs, “Mother swore she sat on a stool the whole time.”

Merlin chuckles. He’s well aware of the stubbornness of mothers. His own would be out collecting chicken eggs and firewood even if she’d nearly bled to death the day before. “Once I finish my errands for the day, I’ll drop by.”

She waves goodbye to him as he continues on his way, and she moves on to the next window. Merlin is pretty sure that by the time she is finished removing cobwebs from every window in the castle, the first windows will once more be covered by them. 

He delivers a headache remedy to Lady Ashworth, and reminds her to take three small doses throughout the day rather than chug the whole thing in one go. She pats his hand like he’s her grandson, and then closes the door behind her. Merlin continues on his rounds in much the same fashion.

The only break from routine is when he knocks on the Lady Morgana’s door. So far he’s been unable to tell whether she actually like him. She sends him sly looks when she sees him, and her smile goes sort of knowing. It really is disconcerting.

The expression is much the same when she opens the door. She has this ability to make Merlin feel small and weak beneath her gaze despite being nearly a head taller than her, and possessing far more magical ability. He wonders if it has anything to do with her magic, or if it is an ability unique onto Morgana.

“Merlin,” she greets with a mischievous curl to her lips, “How can I help you?”

“Gaius sent me with a sleeping draught.” Merlin answers, and holds it out to her.

The corners of Morgana’s lips tick downward in displeasure, but she takes the vial Merlin is holding out to him, “Merlin, if you could do me a favor, I would very much appreciate you reminding Gaius that we agreed to look for other remedies.”

“Of course, my lady.” Merlin responds with a nervous little smile.

“How are you settling in?” Morgana asks then, face soft and seemingly genuinely concerned about his wellbeing, “I know Arthur, Leon, and I have all been too busy to give you the treatment you deserve.”

Merlin has to laugh at that, and Morgana does a little double take at the amused grin on his face, “I have a bedroom the size of my home in Ealdor all to myself, and I get fed fresh bread every morning. I’m not exactly suffering without my hand being held.”

“Fair enough,” Morgana responds with a matching smile. 

Merlin is struck by the fact that he hasn’t ever seen her smile properly before. It’s always been little teasing curls, or pleased wrinkles about her eyes, but never with her whole face like this. He wants her to have reasons to smile more. His mother always told him he had a soft heart underneath the hardness he developed to protect himself against the older boys. Apparently in Camelot nearly everyone tugs at the strings of that soft heart.

“If you don’t mind, I still have some things to deliver.” He says, and holds up the nearly empty satchel as proof.

“Are you delivering the ointment for Arthur’s shoulder by any chance?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that.”

“Probably not. Gaius takes patient privacy very seriously,” Morgana agrees mildly, “Well, regardless, I do hope you see him today. I think you’re good for him.”

“I’ve only been here three weeks.” Merlin says, helplessly confused.

“And already Arthur is steadier on his feet.” Morgana says vaguely, “I think he trusts you to give him the truth.”

“I’d be a pretty terrible common consort if I didn’t.”

Morgana smiles again, “You are a very odd man, Merlin. Carry on.”

Merlin doesn’t scramble to be free of her, but it’s a near thing. He’s pretty sure he likes her, could even be friends if she lets it happen, but she also terrifies him. Camelot is very lucky to have her as an ally instead of an enemy.

He does end up in front of Arthur’s door next, simply because they are close to Morgana’s no matter what she may try to imply. Arthur opens the door still sweaty from training, and with his tunic half undone down his chest. It suits him better than any crown could. 

“Shoulder ointment.” Merlin says by way of explanation and hands the tub over, “Gaius said to have George massage it in every night before bed.”

Arthur takes it with an irritated squint, “My shoulder is fine.”

“Not according to Gaius.” Merlin points out.

Arthur turns that annoyed glare on him next, “And what would you know about medicine, Merlin?”

“More than you do considering I’m actually training in it.”

“Shut up.” Arthur grumbles, but there’s a good natured tilt to his lips, “Are you reporting again in two days’ time?”

“Unless the pregnant woman Gaius has been treating goes into labor.”

“You would be… helping with the birth?” Arthur asks, clearly a little disgusted at the thought.

“I’ve helped through animal births in Ealdor,” Merlin answers with a shrug, “Gaius says it’s a similar enough process that I can be his assistant.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“You asked!”

Arthur sighs, and clasps Merlin on the shoulder, “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re a prat.”

Arthur chuckles and shoves him lightly away from his door, “Don’t let me keep you.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Merlin points out, and ducks out of the way when Arthur tries to put him in a headlock. For a king, Arthur is rather inclined to turn into a puppy with those he trusts. “I’ll see you for dinner in two days!” Merlin calls as he walks away.

He delivers the last vial of medicine to Lord something or other, and then heads down to the market. He’s become a fixture there as well, and his usual vendors all greet him with pleasant smiles. An older man who claims Merlin reminds him of his son when he was young, throws in a couple of extra sprigs of rosemary free of charge. Merlin packs all the ingredients back in the satchel, and heads back to the castle.

“Merlin!” a familiar voice calls out.

Merlin turns to face it, and grins when he sees Gwen hurrying towards him carrying a basket of laundry, “Hello Gwen!”

She smiles at him as well, and balances the basket on her hip, “Is there any chance you could help me change sheets? It goes faster with two.”

“Lancelot is coming home from patrol today isn’t he?”

Gwen ducks her head, trying to hide her smitten little smile, “He said he would come by for dinner once he returned.”

“Let me drop these herbs off to Gaius, and then I’ll come help you.” Merlin promises.

“You are such a great help.” She says gratefully, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

He drops the satchel off with Gaius, then jogs to go meet Gwen at the first room. By the time he gets there, she’s already stripped the bed and is shaking out a fresh sheet. He takes the other side, and helps her spread it across the mattress. Her corners are always neater than his. Perfect corners were never much of a priority in Ealdor, but god forbid a noble lays in something not immaculately done.

He carries the basket to their next stop so that Gwen doesn’t have to, and asks, “Is there a reason Morgana looks like she’s going to eat me alive one minute, and like I’m her little brother the next?”

“You’ll get used to it.” Gwen laughs, “Even before she left Camelot, she was able to think circles around almost everyone in court except for Arthur. The two of them are fairly evenly matched, and that drives each of them crazy. Once she came back, she’d spent so long looking over her shoulder, she forgets that she’s among friends. You’re new to her, and despite how she and Arthur carry on she cares for him greatly.”

They enter the next set of chambers, and Merlin helps her strip the bed as he asks, “Is she afraid I’m going to do something to Arthur?”

“It’s possible,” Gwen answers as she pulls a fresh sheet form the basket, “She trusts Leon’s judgement, but she never wants to leave those she cares for vulnerable. One of the biggest screaming matches she got into with Uther was over me when we had a run in with some bandits. He said that Morgana should have left me to fend for myself, and ran for it. She wasn’t well pleased.”

“That doesn’t explain the little brother look.” Merlin points out as he lifts the corner of the mattress to tuck the corner of the sheet.

Gwen smooths another sheet on top, and tugs the coverlet back onto the mattress, “Anyone with eyes can see that you’re a good person. She’s probably starting to see that shine through.”

“I’m not all that good.” Merlin says guiltily.

He hasn’t told anyone in Camelot of his magic. It seems welcoming enough, but he can’t shake the stories he heard as child. Learning that people like him were more than likely to end up on a pyre left a mark. It was a lesson only reinforced when the older boys in Ealdor tried to hurt him for things beyond his control, and again when the whole village nearly turned on him after he killed Kanen. That’s another thing to add to the list of reasons he’s not a good person, he’s not just a liar, but a killer as well.

“What do you mean?” Gwen asks with a concerned frown.

Merlin’s guilt intensifies at that. He didn’t mean to make her worry. Gwen is the kindest person he’s ever met, she deserves nothing but happiness.

“Just that we all have things in our past we don’t want to think about.” Merlin answers evasively.

Gwen’s face softens, and a little smile plays on her lips, “The only thing that matters is that you are trying to be better today than you were yesterday.”

“You’re very wise.”

“I have my moments.” 

Merlin chuckles, and helps Gwen stack the pillows back on the bed. They move onto the knights’ quarters next. Gwen spends extra time in Lancelot’s room, tidying everything up, leaving flowers on the table, plumping his pillows just so. Merlin watches fondly, amused by these little gestures of love. 

“How long have you two been courting?” Merlin asks as they leave.

“A little over two years.” Gwen answers shyly.

“And he hasn’t made an honest woman of you yet?” Merlin teases, “Should I give him a talking to?”

Gwen tries to hide her smiles as she smacks his arm, “Not you too. I get enough of that kind of talk from Morgana and Elyan.”

“We all just think you deserve the best.” 

Gwaine is actually still in his room when they arrive. He grins when he sees Merlin, and hops up from the bed to pull him into a one armed hug. 

“Good to see you, Merlin. How is life as a married man?”

“Awful. Truly. Never been more miserable.” Merlin jokes.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Gwaine says brightly, “Especially because the beautiful Guinevere refuses to leave her Lancelot to run away with me.”

Gwen shakes her head, and laughs at the obviously well-worn joke, “You know I wouldn’t run away with you even if I wasn’t with Lancelot.”

“Perhaps I’ll have my chance with Merlin here.”

“Are you patient enough to wait three years for me?” Merlin teases.

Gwaine flicks his hair from his face, “Why am I always the butt?”

“It might be because you’re ridiculous?” Merlin guesses.

“You wound me, Merlin,” Gwaine says dramatically, “Luckily I am still in love with you enough to invite you to the tavern tomorrow night. We’re going to be welcoming Lancelot home.”

“I’m guessing you’re not going the night he gets back because he’ll be too busy having dinner with a certain young woman?” 

“There’s two of you now,” Gwen despairs, “Let us all hope Camelot is still standing by the time Merlin goes back to Ealdor.”

“I’ll come.” Merlin agrees, earning him another wide pleased grin from Gwaine.

“We’ll be at the Rising Sun. You’ll get to meet Lancelot, and Elyan, and if we’re all very lucky Leon might get drunk.”

“What happens when Leon gets drunk?”

“He starts singing.” Gwen and Gwaine say in unison.

Merlin has a hard time picturing cool and collected Leon belting out drinking songs, but he would pay good money to see it.

*

The Rising Sun is just as welcoming as the first time Gwaine brought Merlin to it. Drinks and talk flow freely among the patrons, and the place is filled with the sounds of dicing and cards. The inside is warm from the body heat, but Merlin just sheds his jacket and finds himself perfectly comfortable. He’s also discovered that the Rising Sun is an excellent place to gauge the mood of Camelot’s common people. Alcohol loosens tongues, and any complaints people have get aired. Merlin tells himself it isn’t spying, it’s using his position to help others.

“Ah! Merlin!” Gwaine says as he wanders away from a dice game, “Glad you could make it.”

“I said I would.” Merlin points out with an amused smile.

Gwaine tosses his arm over Merlin’s shoulders, and steers him towards a table in the corner, “That doesn’t change that I’m pleased to see you.”

Merlin recognizes Percival, and Leon at the table. Next to them are two men Merlin doesn’t recognize, but one of them has the same kind eyes as Gwen so he assumes that must be Elyan. That leaves the other man to be Lancelot, and Merlin understands what Gwen sees in him. His eyes are dark and serious, determined. He has an air of nobility about him, but not the stuffy kind that makes people want to scream.

“I’m Merlin,” Merlin says by way of greeting and stick his hand out.

“Elyan. I think you know my sister Gwen.” Elyan says, shaking Merlin’s hand.

“I’m lucky she’s my friend.” Merlin responds.

Elyan laughs, white teeth flashing in the light, and really it isn’t fair that all of Arthur’s closest knights are as attractive as the man in question, “You say that now, but wait until you see her angry. I swear I would rather face down twenty armed bandits with nothing but a stick, than try to reason wth Gwen when she’s angry.”

“Gwen is a very kind and noble woman.” The man Merlin assumes is Lancelot says seriously.

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.” Elyan says nudging possible-Lancelot with his elbow.

Gwaine gives Merlin’s shoulders one last squeeze, and lets go, “In case you couldn’t tell by the love struck expression, that’s Lancelot.”

Lancelot shakes Merlin’s hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Merlin. Leon has talked a lot about you.”

Merlin glances over at Leon with his eyebrows raised, “Did you tell them I have you a headache?”

“Only a minor one.” Leon says charitably.

*

Merlin pushes open the doors to Arthur’s chambers just to hear Arthur’s despairing sigh. Arthur had gone on for about twenty minutes about the importance of knocking, so of course Merlin took it upon himself to ignore that order. He takes great joy in pretending to be confused and saying, “But we’re married!” like it makes any kind of difference.

Arthur is already sitting at the dining table, and Merlin drops into a seat across from him. Merlin is glad to see that George has apparently gone for the night. He doesn’t think that even if he had married Arthur for good, that he would ever get used to another person standing silently in a corner pretending not to exist.

“Good day?” Arthur asks like he always does.

“I’m exhausted.”

“That tends to happen when you’re out to all hours drinking with Gwaine.” Arthur points out, looking very unsympathetic.

“Maybe if you actually went out with them when they asked, you wouldn’t be such an ass.” Merlin remarks.

Arthur breathes a little laugh through his nose, then shoves a fabric wrapped object across the table, “Camelot tradition states I’m to gift you with two courting gifts. I gave you that scarf, this is the second.”

Merlin squints at it suspiciously, “Arthur, your gifts haven’t exactly been well suited in the past.”

“Just open it. It took Gaius weeks to help me track it down.”

Merlin carefully pulls the fabric covering off of the gift. His heart stutters in his chest. It’s a book of magic, one like the one Gaius gave to him as a boy. Does that mean Arthur knows?

“I don’t know why you want it,” Arthur says conversationally as he pours himself some wine, “it isn’t even in English.”

He doesn’t know then. Merlin can breathe a little easier. Unfortunately, he’s never been good at telling outright lies, so what comes out of his mouth for an explanation is, “I like languages.”

Arthur pauses like he’s storing that information somewhere, and nods, “I will keep that in mind. Now what news do you have?”

Two days later, Leon delivers a book to him from King Lot. It’s written in a language Merlin has never seen, and comes with a note that says “Thank you for your contribution to peace.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you still helping Gwen with her chores?” Arthur asks conversationally.

Merlin sits next to him at the table, eating at a much more sedate pace than he did that first night. His manners are still appalling, but he can’t really be blamed for that. Country life doesn’t call for decorum, everyone is too tightly knit to care if your elbows are on the table. Merlin washes down his bite with a sip of water, nodding.

“She and Lancelot are trying to make as much of the time as possible before he has to ride out on patrol again. They’re quite sweet really.”

Arthur grimaces a little, “It gets old quickly. BY the fifth time you walk in on them gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, you start to feel ill.”

“If it weren’t Gwen and Lancelot, I’d make a joke about euphemisms,” Merlin says with a grin, “but as it _is_ them, I fully believe that gazing into each other’s eyes is exactly what they were doing.”

“I almost wish I walked in on them doing something else.” Arthur says darkly, “Then at least it would force Lancelot to marry her.”

“Gwen said they’ve been together for two years? I would have thought they’d be married by now.”

“Lancelot is suffering under the delusion that Gwen will leave him as soon as he asks properly.”

“Poor Lancelot.” Merlin says empathetically.

“Trust me, you’ll start suffering along with the rest of us soon.”

Merlin doesn’t respond to that, just shakes his head with one of his soft little chuckles. Arthur would never admit it aloud, but he likes it when Merlin laughs. It’s rare for anyone to laugh in his presence these days, all of them too caught up in treating him as they think a king should be. Merlin may not laugh as much as the knights, but when he does laugh he doesn’t hold it back in a sense of propriety. It never fails to make Arthur smile.

“Speaking of suffering,” Merlin segues, “The villages to the south need help pulling the crops in. A lot of them came down with a nasty illness, and are still recovering.”

“How on earth did you know that?” Arthur asks, “We sent out a patrol to the southern villages only yesterday.”

“Liz, one of Cook’s assistants, her family still lives there. She had a letter from her father yesterday. I heard her talking about it when I was peeling carrots.”

“Why were you peeling carrots?”

“Cook asked for help?”

“You do realize your duties are not meant to be housework?” Arthur asks, brow crinkled with confusion.

Merlin fixes him with a look that clearly indicates that he think Arthur is a fool, “My job is to listen to complaints that people don’t think they should bother you with.”

“Your job,” Arthur says severely, “Is to report on the welfare of the people.”

“I am doing that. That’s what these dinners are for.” Merlin says, gazing at Arthur with wide eyes and thin lips.

“You shouldn’t be helping with chores, you’re a consort.”

“A common consort.”

“A member of court none the less.”

“So, what? You want me to stop helping with chores?”

“It’s inappropriate for the man I’m married to, to be peeling carrots and chasing out dust bunnies.”

Merlin stares at him for several long moments, like he’s trying to assess exactly what the hell Arthur is talking about. Arthur doesn’t think there’s much to understand. Merlin’s work reflects on him as a leader. He can’t be seen having married someone so against the traditions of the consort station. Even Lot hadn’t said anything about Merlin being an extra servant, and had even explained that Common Consorts were rewarded with servants of their own. Merlin has already rejected that notion out of hand.

“Where exactly do you think I’m going to get this information, if I don’t ever talk to common people?” Merlin asks, with a tilt of his head.

Arthur sighs, “Letters and reports, Merlin.”

“I had no idea you were such a supercilious prat.” Merlin responds almost conversationally.

He’s sat forward in his chair, elbows braced on his knees, and he is staring Arthur down with those brilliant blue eyes of his. Sometimes when Merlin looks at him like this, Arthur is worried he’s going to drown in all that blue. It’s a ridiculous notion, and he isn’t sure if the reaction is because only his knights and Morgana look him in the eyes properly, or if it is an intensity unique to Merlin. It doesn’t seem like he should be rooted tot eh spot so easily by someone who takes pride in cast off clothing, but when Merlin has something important to say, Arthur can’t look away.

“Do you even know what supercilious means?” Arthur bluffs.

“Condescending.” Merlin answers without missing a beat, “And I can’t get what I need from letters or reports. Most of the common people can’t read. The only reason I can is because Mary’s father was a scholar before he retired to the countryside with Mary’s mother.”

“The Lords provide reports.” Arthur points out.

Merlin faces crinkles briefly before smoothing out again, “I doubt any lord given report is accurate.”

“Are you challenging the nobility of my councilors?”

“Yes.”

In Uther’s day that would have been followed with a death sentence. Common born people were never meant to question anyone above their station, and Uther made sure everyone was aware of that rule. Though, in Uther’s day Arthur would never have been married off to a commoner to procure a treaty. That, too, would have been an offense that could have led to war. Things have changed, but Arthur must hold the line somewhere.

“Choose your next words carefully.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at that, like Arthur isn’t a king, “I’m not saying they lie to you or anything like that, but they know you can’t possibly keep up with the reports that you’re required to read. They can exaggerate how well or how poorly they’re doing in order to gain your favor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin.”

“I know for a fact, Lord Gerwin told you at the last meeting that his fields were doing reasonably well, when in fact most people were struggling to get food onto the table.”

“You hadn’t even arrived in Camelot yet at the time of the last meeting.” Arthur says indignantly.

“I have my sources.” Merlin says cryptically.

“Are Lord Gerwin’s tenants really doing so poorly?”

“Yes,” Merlin answers with no hesitation, “They are. And none of us would be the wiser unless I had talked to just the right person. You married me for the job of Common Consort, let me do my job.”

They fall silent then, and Arthur finds himself in a staring contest with Merlin. Both of them are entirely too stubborn to get look away from this moment. He has to admire Merlin for his stubbornness. Most people when faced with an irritated king tuck tail and run, but Merlin seems to take great delight in irritating Arthur. Arthur knows for a fact that Merlin can knock, but chooses not to because it drives Arthur mad. Merlin has a backbone underneath the bright smiles and kind gestures.

“You should conduct interviews instead.” Arthur insists.

“No, Sire. Most people don’t know who I am, they think I’m Gaius’s assistant. If they find out I’m the Common Consort, then they’ll stop talking to me.”

“That doesn’t even makes sense.” Arthur says, struggling to keep himself from shouting with frustration.

“They remember when speaking out about Uther would be enough to get them executed for treason. You’re different, I know, but they will keep themselves safe before trying to ease their way of life.”

Arthur sits back in his chair. The candlelight flickers in an invisible breeze, and casts interesting shadows on Merlin’s face. It makes him look more mature than Arthur has ever seen him; solid, otherworldly.

“You’ve thought a lot about this.” 

A little smile picks up the corners of Merlin’s mouth, “I’m just speaking from experience. Cenred and Uther weren’t as different as they liked to think.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.” Arthur says reflexively.

“Then the dead should do a better job while they were living.” Merlin responds.

Arthur gapes at him, entirely caught off guard, “Sometimes, Merlin, you say something that some would almost say is wise.”

“I’m not all that wise,” Merlin answers, eyes going a little distant, “I just pay attention. It can be awful acting the fool when you know better, but people like you better as an idiot.”

“I like both your idiocy and your wisdom.” Arthur says, though he can’t say why. There’s just something about the distant look in Merlin’s eyes that makes him distinctly uncomfortable. 

Merlin comes back to reality, and offers Arthur a blinding grin, “So you admit you like me.”

“Never.”

“You did!” Merlin insists, leaning so far forward in his glee that Arthur is a little concerned that he’s going to drag that ridiculous neckerchief through his dinner.

“I said you had your moments.”

“You said you liked both kinds of moments.”

“But I didn’t say I liked the neutral ones.”

Merlin shakes his head, still grinning, “I don’t know why you insist on acting like a dollop head when you’re actually a good person underneath it all.”

“How do you manage to praise and insult me all at once?” Arthur asks, and takes a sip of wine to hide his smile.

“That I perfected back in Ealdor.” Merlin says, finally leaning back in his chair, “It confused the older boys and kept them from coming after me.”

“They would come after you?” 

Arthur can’t imagine anyone wanting to go after Merlin, not really. Merlin can be frustrating to the point of infuriating, and there are moments during those dinners where Arthur wants to strangle him, or maybe Morgana and Leon for sticking him with Merlin, but he couldn’t imagine wanting to actually hurt Merlin. He is certainly one of the most confusing people Arthur has met, but he might also be the bravest and kindest.

“I was a strange, skinny little boy with no father, and no sense of when to shut up.” Merlin answers, tracing the grain of the wood, “It took a long time before I was as welcome in Ealdor as anyone else. I think some of the older members of the village were secretly pleased when I left.”

“That must have been hard.”

Merlin tilts his head, considering, “In some ways, but in a lot of ways it was easier than being here. Everyone pitched in together, shared what they could, and took joy in the simple things.”

“We never took joy in much of anything growing up, unless it was burning another sorcerer.” Arthur says, thinking back to his own childhood.

Merlin flinches heavily at the mention of the pyre. Arthur doesn’t blame him, he still has nightmares about the atrocities of Uther’s reign himself. He can’t imagine how much more terrifying it was growing up knowing you could be accused of sorcery at any moment, and not having the protection of the court to shield you from the consequences. Cenred may have been more lenient about magic, but he still killed any who refused to fight for him.

He rests his hand on Merlin’s shoulder impulsively, and squeezes, “Sorry. I don’t like bringing it up either. I’m sure it was a concern if you were as strange as you say.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Merlin replies, voice heavy.

Arthur wishes desperately to take the words back. Morgana has always accused him of being careless, and he doesn’t want to ruin this thing with Merlin. They aren’t quite friends yet, but with every dinner they get more comfortable with each other. The teasing gets more pointed, and Merlin sticks around longer after every meal. It makes a nice change from the endless empty nights in his chambers that he’s become accustomed to.

“Forget I said anything.”

Merlin nods shakily, “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Arthur scoffs. It has the desired effect.

Merlin raises his eyebrows playfully, “Of course not, because kings don’t need to be concerned with the welfare of others.”

“Exactly,” Arthur says haughtily, “I have to be concerned with the good of the kingdom, not the feelings of one upstart commoner.”

“I’m going to write King Lot and tell him about how rude you are to me.”

“Nothing in the treaty said I had to be polite if it turned out my consort was an idiot.”

Merlin lets out another little chuckle, then drags a hand over his face, “I should go. I was up early to help Gaius track down a flower that only blooms at dawn. He’ll probably want me up early tomorrow too.”

“I will see you next week.” Arthur dismisses, and stands to go to his bedchamber.

“Goodnight, Arthur.” Merlin says softly, and the doors click shut behind him before Arthur has a chance to say it back.

Arthur is relieved to be back on the practice pitch the next afternoon. He sticks with training his own knights as much as possible, but between the wedding planning and the sudden increasing council meetings, he’s been lucky to catch the tail end of practice. This is the first proper training he’s had in ages.

He can feel his muscles burning in the way that speaks of hard work, and relishes in it. He never feels more alive than when he has a sword in his hand, even a blunted practice one.

He crashes his sword down against Elyan’s defense, and Elyan staggers away to regroup. He’s smaller than Arthur, lighter on his feet. They are both trying to use their opponent’s size against them. Arthur knows that he can outmatch Elyan on brute strength, and keeps trying to maneuver them into a position that would allow him to batter Elyan’s defenses. Elyan knows he can outmatch Arthur at sudden feints and ducks, and keeps utilizing that tactic to bring Arthur down. Arthur heart soars at the challenge, sweat dripping into his eyes, and matting his hair to his forehead. In the end, the match is a draw, both of them losing their swords in one go.

Arthur laughs, claps Elyan on the back, and turns to go get water. To his surprise, the rest of his knights are gathered around the water table as well, all looking at something that Arthur can’t see. He picks up his training sword, and starts making his way over.

“I don’t believe Leon or I called for a break.” He says, doing his best to sound commanding.

Gwaine turns to face him, grinning, “Come say hi. Merlin stopped by to watch.”

The knights all seem to shift a bit, and sure enough, Merlin is sitting on the bench next to the water, He smiles when he sees Arthur.

“Hope this is okay. Gwaine invited me.”

“No harm done other than the distractions of the knights.” Arthur says pointedly.

Merlin is unaffected by his tone, and just smiles a little wider, “They were asking me to join them at the Rising Sun two nights from now.”

Arthur glares at Gwaine sharply, “What have I said about going drinking the night before we ride out on patrol?”

“Lighten up, princess. I will limit it to two drinks maximum for everyone.” Gwaine says with his usual casual air.

“Can I go?” Merlin asks suddenly.

Arthur glances at him, utterly puzzled, “You don’t need my permission to go to the tavern, although I would prefer not to have a drunkard as a consort.”

“Not the tavern,” Merlin says with an edge of insult in his tone, “I meant on patrol.”

“Absolutely not.” Arthur answers immediately.

“Why?”

“Merlin, a stiff breeze could knock you over. We may encounter bandits, and I don’t want to waste man power trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Merlin says earnestly, “Besides, you stay in villages along the way. It would give me a chance to talk to them.”

“No.”

“I swear if bandits attack, you can leave me high and dry without it jeopardizing your treaty with Lot. I need to talk to people outside of the citadel, and all the stone is making me itch. I only get to go to the woods if Gaius sends me to pick herbs.”

“Gwaine and I will look after him, Sire.” Percival pipes up, “No harm will come to him.”

Sensing he’s about to lose this fight, Arthur retreats to high ground, “Fine. You can come. But if you get injured or killed by a bandit or anything else that might attack us, you don’t get to complain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Merlin grins cheekily.

“If I believed that for a second, I’d be a bigger fool than you.” 

Arthur pours himself some water, drinks deeply, wipes his face off with a towel, and tosses it at Merlin’s head. It has the desired effect of making Merlin glare at him.

“Shall I put this in the washing?” 

“If you would be so kind. And if you’re just going to sit there, at least make yourself useful. The swords could use a good polish.”

“Anything else, Sire? Could I possibly shine your boots as well?”

“Let’s see how well you do with the swords first, then we’ll discuss the boots.”

“Yes, Sire. Thank you, sire. I live to do your bidding, sire.” Merlin responds, sarcasm heavy in the air.

Arthur grins at him, unable to hide his amusement at Merlin resenting being treated like a servant when he so often acts like one, “That will be all, Merlin. Break is over.”

The knights all heave tired sighs and return to the field, working on their hand to hand combat. Arthur is so caught up in the thrill of training that he forgets all about Merlin. When he remembers to check in on him, Merlin is bent over one of the swords, actually polishing it.


	9. Chapter 9

“When this all goes to hell…” Merlin starts.

“It won’t go to hell. Honestly, Merlin.” Arthur cuts him off, sounding incredibly irritated.

“When this all goes to hell,” Merlin insists, “will you promise not tell my mother that I died from embarrassment? Make it something manly like a poisoning.”

“Poisonings are manly?” Arthur asks, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that way it does when he’s amused. Merlin has been there about six weeks now, and he’s gotten good at reading Arthur’s expressions. He may lock himself down around most, but with those he trusts he is an open book. He’s not sure when he became someone Arthur trusts, but it happened. He suspects being a right pain in the ass since the get go has softened Arthur towards him. It’s easy to trust a man who spreads his honest opinions around like plants spread pollen.

It does come with a certain layer of guilt, however. The matter of revealing his magic weighs heavy on his conscious, but it never seems like the right time. He knows he should return the trust. It isn’t even like magic is a closely guarded secret really, all of Ealdor knew about it long before he left to get married, but he needed to know Arthur’s opinions on it before he went around proudly calling himself a powerful warlock. Now that Arthur has proven not to mind magic at all, other than when he’s muttering darkly about Morgana when she’s gotten the better of him, Merlin wants to tell him. He just doesn’t know how.

He practices spells in his room late at night, when the castle is asleep. They come to him easier than they ever did in Ealdor. It’s like now that he has another outlet, his magic is jumping at the chance to try something new and not just go over and over the spells he already knows. The best way he can think to explain it is a seamstress getting quicker with each project she finishes, learning techniques to make it come together with more ease. 

He just wishes he had a chance to use it for something useful.

“It’s manlier than death by embarrassment induced stroke.” Merlin insists, “You can make up a really good story about it. I’m thinking that I was murdered in a political coup to upset the delicate peace between you and Lot.”

“You really do speak utter rubbish sometimes.” 

“I don’t speak rubbish.” Merlin grumbles, clutching his report closer to his chest.

Arthur huffs a little laugh, takes Merlin’s shoulder in one broad hand, and wags him a little, “As long as you keep your rubbish out of the council meeting, you can speak it as much as you like. I don’t know why you’re so convinced it’s going to go horribly. You’re a… well you do seem to be able to charm just about anyone.”

“Including you?”

“Hardly. I’m a king. I’m not charmed by anyone.”

“Liar.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “Why are you so convinced this is all doomed? You knew presenting to the council was one of your duties, and you report to me all the time.”

Merlin scrubs a hand over his face and sags against the wall next to the double doors. He hasn’t been in the hall since the day he and Arthur got married. The thought of having to reenter and paint over that, if not pleasant at least not unpleasant, memory with one of glaring old men in clothing that could feed Ealdor for a year, fills him with anxiety so intense he can barely breathe. They won’t listen to him, and he knows it. Possibly the only person who doesn’t know that Merlin will be lucky to put up even a token protest, is Arthur. 

“I can tell you when you’re being a spoiled, arrogant prat.” Merlin says finally, “I can’t do that with the council.”

Arthur squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, “Just remember that they are no longer your superiors. You may not have this position forever, but you having standing now. Don’t let them cow you.”

Merlin’s voice is firm and not exactly comforting. With a start, Merlin realizes that Arthur sounds like a king. This is the first time he’s ever heard Arthur sound like that in all his time in Camelot. Even during the speech on their wedding night, Arthur had made an effort to sound friendly and open. Now he sounds like he’s preparing to do battle. Perhaps he is in a way. Merlin has to wonder of these men were once Uther’s, and how many of them are actually willing to support a king as young as Arthur.

Arthur’s jaw is set, and the friendliness in them is still there, but diminished a bit to make room for expectation. He expects Merlin to go in, he expects Merlin to make him proud, and he expects that Merlin will be strong enough to do both of those things. He is every inch King Arthur. It’s an arresting sight.

His mind briefly flickers to the thought of Young Arthur. Had Uther always carried that look of expectation even when Arthur was too little to understand it? Merlin hopes not, he hopes that Arthur got to enjoy some aspects of childhood, but judging from what he’s heard from Gwen and Leon (only when Leon was too drunk to keep his tongue, god forbid he speak ill of his former king) hat probably wasn’t the case. Merlin understands the pressure in way. He’d spent most of his early ears hiding his magic from everyone in Ealdor, and trying to avoid getting shoved around by the older boys who thought he was a strange little bastard.

“I won’t.” he promises Arthur.

He isn’t sure if he can keep up with that promise. He was able to stand up to Pompous Ass because it didn’t matter if Merlin made a good impression on him at the time. Merlin’s big mouth has always had a talent for getting him into trouble, and he can’t help it. When people push at him and push at him, he pushes back. He just doesn’t know if he can push back in the meeting. They can think anything they of _him_ and it won’t bother him, but now he’s in a position where he has to represent Arthur as well as himself. The People rely on him to keep them in better health than before Arthur married him, and the pressure threatens to swallow him whole.

“Let’s go in.” Arthur sates, drawing his shoulders back. He isn’t wearing one, but he doesn’t need to. The authority rolls off him in waves. “Stand up straight, look them in the eye, and remember that you have a right to be there.”

Merlin nods, and tries to do what Arthur says. He keeps his head high, balancing his stack of parchment more neatly than he was before. For a moment he regrets his choice to not let Leon purchase him a new wardrobe. Commanding the respect of these men would be a lot easier if he looked like them, but this is the way he chose to do his duties. He didn’t want to seem above his station, and he refuses to spend money on frivolous things when people can barely feed themselves and their children.

Arthur pushes open the doors, and strides through, coat swishing around him dramatically. Light floods in from the high windows, bathing the room in bright light that doesn’t quite reach the dark corners. It brings all attention to Arthur, like the heavens are lighting the way specifically for him. It makes him look older. He nods at his councilors as he approaches the head of the table, and sinks regally into the chair waiting for him. He lofts his eyebrows imperiously, and the lords all duck their heads with respectful murmurs of ‘my lord’.

Merlin is a bit awestruck that Arthur can command that much respect while simultaneously being the man who likes to make Merlin’s life difficult for a laugh. If he didn’t know better, he’d say they weren’t the same person at all; this Arthur and the one who looks on despairingly at Merlin’s table manners. Merlin doesn’t think he could be anything other than his same impertinent, stubborn, big hearted self.

“I thank you all for coming.” Arthur says, voice carrying down the table with ease, “As you are well aware, we have a made a recent addition to this council. You may have seen him at our wedding, but I would like to formally introduce Merlin of Ealdor, my husband. Lord Merlin, you may step forward.”

_Stand up straight, look them in the eye, and remember that you have a right to be there_ , Merlin repeats silently in his head. He steps up to the end of the table opposite Arthur, and smiles at them. When his gaze lands on Pompous Ass, he lets his smile turn a little smug. Leon and Arthur had both mentioned that Pompous Ass had attempted to get Leon to choose someone more suitable for the position, and yet here Merlin stands as bold as brass. It gives him a little bit of confidence to stare the rest of the council down, despite the obvious disrespect of some. He thinks the eye roll from old Ginger Beard is entirely unnecessary. 

“I am glad to be introduced to you all properly.” Merlin says, trying to sound the least bit like he knows what he’s doing, “I hope I can advise this wise council to their satisfaction.”

He doubts it. The first thing he’s going to suggest is to cut taxes to the people, and he doesn’t think that is going to go over very well at all. Still, it’s the most immediate pressure that needs to be relieved. Merlin had looked over the last several years of tax documents in his down time over the last few weeks, and the taxes were hiked three times in as many years, each hike exceeding the last. The rates were ridiculous to impose on the common folk already paying taxes to their lordly land owner, and there’s no reason to keep them this high at all.

“You bring us valuable insight. Please.” Arthur says, and gestures regally with one hand.

Merlin doesn’t let out an audible breath, but it’s a near thing. He can’t let them see him sweat, he’s sure they’d be on him like wolves in moments. If he’s going to make Arthur feel safe in his decision to trust Leon, then Merlin has to keep himself as tall and strong as any other councilor. He spreads his notes out across the end of the table in a neat fan, and looks back up at the faces of the councilors.

“You have to cut taxes.” He states simply.

The effect is subtle, but immediate. The councilors all shift in their seats, condescending looks turn irate, and a few cut off hisses of breath are audible. Even Arthur looks a bit like the rug has been swept out from under him, though he does an admirable job of looking otherwise.

“I hardly think that’s necessary.” one of the councilors says stuffily, “The people are doing well enough.”

“The people are not doing well enough, unless you count losing children to starvation every winter.” Merlin snaps, heart beating wildly in his chest. How can they all be so blasé about the welfare of the people they are meant to look after?

“Children die. It is the way of things, and while none of us like it there is hardly anything we can do to interfere with nature’s course.” Someone else says like he’s describing how plants grow to a child.

Merlin clenches his jaw, fighting to remain as calm as Arthur. His magic prickles near painfully under his skin, threatening to explode out of him at any second and turn everyone into toads. He wrestles back that impulse. As much as they might deserve it, Arthur would probably be rather upset by his entire support system being slimy, croaky, wart-covered little creatures.

“Illness, drought, accidents, these are all things no can really predict.” Merlin says, hoping that by agreeing they’ll soften towards him, “However, people are not starving because of a drought or bad harvest. In fact, if you look at the crop reports from the last several years, Camelot has had many years of exceptional harvest in a row. If anything, the people should be thriving.”

“War takes a lot feeding.” a councilor with rather a lot of ear hair says.

Merlin does not roll his eyes, “Even with the King’s campaign in Essetir, there is no reason the farmers should be giving up this many of their crops and livestock, nor should hose people in towns be returning so much of their coin.”

“We cannot afford to cut taxes if we wish to keep funding our army.” Someone else chimes in, and at least he sounds reasonable.

“I have thought of that. The simplest solution is to stop holding so many feasts.” Merlin announces.

Old Red Beard actually scoffs aloud, “We can’t just stop having feasts. It’s tradition.”

“I didn’t say stop having them,” Merlin says, wondering if this is what Mary’s Father felt like trying to get them all to learn their letters, “I said stop having so many. I understand that they are necessary for maintaining peace when allies come to visit, and that some good cheer needs to be had in winter or at the end of a good harvest. I even understand the need for one to celebrate The King’s birthday, but do you need to have one to celebrate the harvest at the end of summer, and the one at Samhain not even a month later? Why not put them together since they more or less celebrate the same thing? You have three feasts in spring alone! Surely, you don’t need that many.”

“I don’t expect you to understand our traditions, not being from Camelot yourself, but there is a reason we do things the way we do.” Ear Hair sneers.

Merlin bites back the retort that is burning in his mind — _Greed perhaps?_ — and glances toward Arthur. He’s sitting back in that stupid chair of his, not bothering to come to Merlin’s defense at all, and for a moment Merlin hates Arthur all the way down to his very soul. Arthur was the one who told Merlin they could use his advice, Arthur was the one who just a few minutes ago told Merlin he had a right to be in this room among these lords, and now Arthur is the one who sits back and lets them speak to Merlin as though he’s nothing more than a stupid child. It isn’t really Arthur’s fault. He’s king, he has to remain impartial, but Merlin had thought he proved his worth over their dinners together. He deserves more regard than this, it isn’t as though him being from Essetir makes him any less capable of understanding the plight of Camelot’s people.

“Lord Merlin has shown disregard to Camelot Tradition in the past.” Pompous Ass interjects, fixing Merlin with an oily grin.

“Just because things are tradition, doesn’t mean they should be kept up.” Merlin says darkly, “Burning magic users was tradition for nearly twenty years, wasn’t it?”

“You forget your place!” Pompous Ass shouts.

That’s what finally pulls Arthur from his silent contemplation. He sits up, eyes darting between Merlin and Pompous Ass as though waiting for blows. Merlin has never been much good in a hand to hand fight, but he like his chances against Pompous Ass. 

“Gentlemen, we are getting off track.” Arthur says calmly, “Perhaps we should table this discussion for a tone when tempers are not running so high. Lord Merlin, your suggestions are taken under advisement. You may take your seat.”

Merlin glares at Arthur so hard that Arthur actually blinks in surprise, but Merlin sinks obediently into the chair that was put out for him. The major benefit to Arthur letting him stay is that none of the lords can turn around and start bad mouthing him, or trying to convince Arthur to ignore the suggestion. Merlin does nearly fly into an indignant rage when Lord Children Die proposes yet another tax hike to the people to compensate for the territories Arthur took when he defeated Cenred.

Arthur dismisses them all after another hour of discussion when it becomes clear that everyone is in too much of a frenzy after Merlin’s suggestions to agree on anything. The lords all shuffle out with those same polite bows and murmurs of respect. It makes Merlin sick, and he stands to go, but is stopped by Arthur saying, “Merlin, with me.”

Merlin follows behind Arthur up the stairs to Arthur’s chambers, clenching his hands into fists the whole time. He didn’t embarrass himself, thankfully, but he’s never been so angry in his life. Not even when someone claimed his mother was a whore.

Arthur closes the doors behind them, and drops into his seat at his dining table, sprawled in careless way he could never get away with in council. He smiles at Merlin approvingly, “You did well in there, especially for your first time.”

“How can you stand it?” Merlin grits out. Staring at the opposite wall so that he doesn’t do something stupid like hit Arthur over the head with something heavy.

“Stand what?” Arthur asks, sounding genuinely confused.

Merlin looks at him then, surprised to find his vision blurred with angry tears, “The disregard for human life just to keep up appearances?”

“Merlin,” Arthur says gently, “they’re old and stuck in their ways. I was hardly going to approve another tax hike just because Lord Unwin wants to be able to purchase more jewels for his collection of mistresses.”

Merlin shakes his head, “I’ve told you, Arthur, what it was like growing up in Ealdor. I told you what it was like not knowing if you would survive the winter because a lord road off with all your extra crops, and you just sat there and let them say my family and friends were worth less than being able to have a thousand feasts a year.”

“Things aren’t as bad as all that.” Arthur dismisses with an incredulous laugh, “It’s not like I’m Cenred.”

“How long until you are?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. How long until you’re the one being conquered because you got too greedy and your own people turned to a foreign king for aid?”

Arthur gapes at him like he never expected Merlin to have this much backbone, “That’s why you’re here. Your job is to keep that from happening.”

“My job means nothing if you won’t listen to me!” Merlin shouts.

He’s never been much of a shouter. He’s never seen anything get accomplished by shouting, being calm and menacing has always worked much better for him. It’s what kept Kanen’s remaining men from forming their own band after their leader’s demise. He can’t help himself now, though, because he’s not just angry. He’s also disappointed. He’d been under the impression that Arthur was different. Seems first impressions really are rarely correct.

“Merlin.” Arthur says softly, reaching out to him.

Merlin flinches away, and looks somewhere over Arthur’s head, “I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner, Sire.” 

When he does go for dinner the next day, they sit in awkward silence. Merlin has also never been one for the silent treatment, that was always Mary’s specialty, but he can’t trust himself to say anything without screaming at Arthur. It takes that long for Arthur to sigh, and nudge Merlin’s foot under the table to get his attention.

“I’m going to do my best to push through your suggestions.” Arthur says stiffly, “I think you were correct. Tradition means nothing if we don’t have people to carry on those traditions.”


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur hefts the practice blade in one hand, and takes a few experimental swings. It isn’t balanced as finely as his actual sword, but that’s to be expected. As long as it doesn’t throw off the sensation of holding a real blade, then there’s nothing to worry about. Across from him, Leon sighs as he steps into the ring. Considering he just returned from patrol with Elyan yesterday, Arthur probably should have given them both the time off, but he loathes the idea of his knights ever being unprepared for what lies ahead, even in a relative time of peace.

“Come on then, sword up.” Arthur instructs.

Leon raises his sword with halfhearted smile, “I think I might be ill if I keep going on too much longer, Sire.” 

“You’ve been spending too much time around Gwaine.” Arthur shoots back with a chuckle.

“Don’t I know it?” Leon says dismally.

“I haven’t done anything annoying in the las six weeks at least!” Gwaine says indignantly. He’s distracted long enough that it allows Percival to land a blow, and Gwaine doubles over with a woof of air. Percival at least has the decency to look apologetic as he helps Gwaine to the side of the pitch to catch his breath. All of the other knights just laugh.

Arthur follows Gwaine’s progress to the bench, just to make sure no actual damage has been done, and startles when he sees Merlin. Ever since the disastrous council meeting, things between them have been a bit awkward. Arthur has done his best to ram through the suggested legislation, but things go slowly when your council is full of old men used to lives of excess. 

It is yet another mess of his father’s that he has to clean up, and some days he thinks he will never each the end of the things he has to fix. It hurts more every time. He knew from the moment he smuggled Morgana from Camelot that his father was not a perfect man, but with each new ruling he has to fight to overturn, his father’s legacy seems to tarnish more and more. His father was not just deeply flawed, but also bordering on tyrannical. Arthur worries, daily, that he’s going to end up that way too. He should probably tell Merlin just how grateful he is for the help, but the words stick in his throat. He’s never been properly taught how to express thanks.

“Merlin? What are you doing here?” Arthur asks cheerfully, trying his best to be welcoming.

Merlin smiles at him, and it eases some of the anxiety tightening in his chest, “Apparently coming to see Gwaine get injured.”

Gwaine moans pitifully, “You’ve even turned Merlin against me! I thought we were meant to be best mates!”

Merlin laughs and shakes his head, shoving Gwaine away when he tries to flop into his lap. 

Arthur isn’t sure when his knights adopted Merlin, but one day he turned around and they decided he was as good as their little brother. Even Leon, who Merlin drove nearly mad those first few weeks, has come round. Merlin doesn’t join them for training every day, but it’s a near thing, and Arthur finds he doesn’t mind. Merlin brings a certain joy that can lack during rigorous training, especially on the heels of a long campaign, and the knights all fight better for it. It’s like they all remembered why they wanted to take up sword craft in the first place, not just to maim and kill, but for the artistry as well.

Arthur turns his attention back to Leon, and even though there’s still some weariness to his eyes, he’s grinning as well. Arthur adjusts his grip on his practice sword, Leon does the same, and they come together in a clash of metal. Leon is fighting well; lighter and quicker than his usual preferred style. Arthur has been trying to explain it to him for the better part of a year after seeing a similar style in Caerleon, but the style hadn’t worked for Arthur’s frame and that made it incredibly difficult to demonstrate. Something must have finally clicked recently, and Arthur is glad for it. Leon is one his best knights, and Arthur wants him to have every advantage. 

The only downside, Arthur has to fight that much harder to stay out of Leon’s way. He has never taken losing well, but he can’t begrudge his knights the occasional victory. There’s just something about today that makes Arthur want to win, and win handily. 

He leans back as Leon’s blade darts dangerously close to his face, then steps to the side to try to get at Leon’s side while it’s still open. Leon dodges out of the way neatly, and comes for Arthur again. It turns into an elaborate dance of sorts. They dart, duck, parry, swing, stab, step and weave in an intricate balance. Neither of them gain the upper hand for the longest time, and the world fades out around Arthur’s awareness. His only focus is on Leon, and Leon’s blade. 

They lock together again, trying to force the other one to let go of their weapon. Arthur twists his arm at the same moment Leon tries the same maneuver. Both of their blades go flying, and land several feet away at the base of the bench where Merlin is sitting.

He looks up at them, blinking owlishly. Then his face creases into one of those grins, and he lets out a little laugh, “Try not to kill me. You may be battle hardened warriors, but I don’t think either of you could stand up to my mother when she’s angry.”

“I think I could take your mother in a fight, Merlin.” Arthur says dismissively.

“Could you take on Gwen or Morgana in a fight if they were angry?” Lancelot asks, and Arthur shudders at the thought.

“I can’t think of anything I’d like to do less.”

“Then, I think it would be wise to listen to Merlin.” 

Merlin and Lancelot exchange amused glances, and Arthur should feel the sting of their teasing, but he doesn’t. Merlin has been insulting him since the moment he arrived in Camelot, that’s not going to change just because he’s surrounded by Arthur’s most trusted men. He thinks that perhaps the reason they all like Merlin so much is that he bridges the gap between them and Arthur himself. Despite Arthur always encouraging them to speak their minds, there’s remained a distance between King and Subjects. They are the closest thing he has to friends, and he’s glad of Merlin’s help to set them all at ease.

“I suppose his threats may have some merit.” Arthur admits, “But I still think we could take on one unarmed and untrained person.”

“What about Morgana?” Gwaine asks, smirking.

Arthur rolls his eyes, “No one can take her on unless they have no fear of death.”

“She’s really that powerful then?” Merlin asks curiously.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Arthur sighs, “And she can be a real pain about it. Surely you didn’t expect me to install a weak court sorceress?”

Merlin tilts his head with an annoyed look, “It’s not like I can just go up to her and say ‘Lady Morgana, show me your magic’, can I?”

“Why ever not?”

“It’s rude, and I’d like her not to decapitate me.”

“You’re forgetting about the murder clause.”

“Like she wouldn’t be able to find a way around that cause if I decided to cross her.”

A laugh breaks free from Arthur’s chest, and he finds himself grinning just as much as the rest of his men, “Well you’ve some survival instincts, I’ll give you that much.”

“I have plenty of survival instincts.” Merlin insists with a knowing look in his eye.

Not for the first time, Arthur finds himself wondering about what he doesn’t know of Merlin. They’ve only known each other roughly two months, hardly enough time to actually get to know one another even with weekly dinners. It’s just that there are these flashes, every now and again, that make Merlin look older than his years. It makes Arthur wonder what Merlin has experienced to turn him into a man with faraway looks and fire in his soul.

He knows about the struggles of growing up with inconsistent food, and Merlin’s troubles with the older boys in the village. There seems to be something missing, though, that Arthur can’t quite seem to put his finger on. It has to do with Merlin’s jokes about strangeness, and self-preservation. He speaks as though he has ample experience with them, and Arthur can’t fathom where that would come from. Not just from the childhood bullies, surely.

“Well, if you’re done distracting my knights again…”

“I don’t distract your knights! I sit here quietly, and watch. You’re slightly more entertaining than having to hide in various cervices in the castle so that Pompous A—I mean Sir Lionel doesn’t track me down for a chat.”

“He’s still pestering you is he?” Gwaine asks, siting up now that he has his breath back.

“He thinks I should bow to the traditions of Camelot, and keeps offering to tutor me in them. He won’t leave me alone.”

“Trust me, he’s done the same thing to all of us but Leon.” Elyan says reassuringly.

“I suffer for my duties.” Merlin says, but it’s undercut with another flash of that grin.

They never really get back to training after that, and Merlin has the good grace to seem apologetic. Arthur has talked about how important training is to him, and he doesn’t believe that Merlin ever meant to interrupt. He also believes that his knights deserve a bit of a rest. Ever since the campaign in Essetir, they’ve been cranky and short with each other during training. Letting them blow the last half of it off isn’t going to make or break their abilities. Arthur supposes he could lighten up a little as Gwaine always suggests, and he takes his agreement with Gwaine as proof enough that he needs time off.

After training, everyone scatters to their various duties, even Merlin. Though he does stop to give Arthur a wave before he vanishes into the unknown. Apparently their fight about tax policies has been forgiven, and Arthur is relieved. He has this sinking feeling in his gut that Merlin is the only person, other than Morgana, on the council that has the interest of the kingdom at heart and not just their own coffers. He’s been meaning to clean house, but he hasn’t been able to find suitable replacements for them.

George is in his chambers when he arrives, and Arthur nods in greeting. To his surprise, George does not immediately jump into a long list of the duties Arthur has remaining for the day, like he usually does. In fact, he looks a bit pale and sweaty, and he’s hunched a bit as though his stomach is paining him.

“Are you quite aright, George?” Arthur asks softly, reaching out to balance George as he tries to stagger over to Arthur’s desk.

“Yes, Sire. All is right as rain.” George says, and takes another stumbling step.

Arthur presses the back of his hand to George’s forehead, and rolls his eyes, “Go see Gaius, you’re burning up.”

“I assure you, Sire, I am perfectly capable of completing my duties.” George says breathlessly.

“Right. If you won’t go yourself, then I’m dragging you to Gaius’s myself. Come on.” Arthur says, hooking one arm under George’s shoulder and tugging him along.

George must be feeling really sick if he’s willing to let Arthur touch him. George is all about propriety and boundaries; the man makes jokes about brass. If he’s leaning on Arthur like this, then he must be ready to keel over and die at any moment.

The walk to Gaius’s takes twice as long as it normally should because of George’s extra weight, but they make it eventually. Arthur pushes open the doors to Gaius’s chambers, and finds Merlin perched on Gaius’s work bench, nose buried in a book. Gaius is standing opposite, doing something with some kind of paste. They both look up as Arthur barges in.

“What is the matter, Sire?” Gaius asks, setting aside the paste.

“George has come down with something, and was refusing to come here until he completed his duties. I’m afraid I had to drag him.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Merlin bury his face in his hands to keep from laughing. Even Arthur can admit there’s something a little funny about the King of Camelot dragging a servant to the physician’s quarters.

Gaius sends Merlin and annoyed look, and Merlin gets to his feet. Together, Arthur and Merlin help George over to the bed. He curls up on it with a weak moan, and Arthur just knows that if George isn’t too feverish to remember this when he’s well, he’s going to apologize for being so indisposed. Arthur hasn’t the faintest why George is so determined. He didn’t even come into personal service until after Uther died, so it isn’t like he’s afraid Arthur will have him flogged or anything of that nature.

Gaius sets to work, already pressing at George’s side, and murmuring something like “At least it isn’t appendicitis.”

“Make sure he stays there until he’s well.” Arthur orders, “I’ll ask Geoffrey to find me replacement in the meantime.”

“I’ll do it.” Merlin says.

“Do what?”

“Act as your servant until George is well. It can’t be that hard, and the staff is stretched thin as it is.”

“Merlin, have you ever been a servant?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think you’d be a good one?”

Merlin shrugs, unconcerned, “I didn’t say I would be good at it, I said I could do it. I could always tell Lady Morgana that you are planning to stretch the staff even thinner.”

“How long are you going to keep threatening me with Lot and my sister?” Arthur says on sigh.

“Until it stops working.” Merlin answers.

So proceeds the strangest week of Arthur’s life. He wakes each morning to Merlin being aggressively cheerful while depositing his food. Where George would have spent almost an hour coaxing Arthur out of bed, Merlin just bodily hauls him out of it as tough Arthur is a misbehaving child.

His chambers are a disaster. Merlin cleans, to be fair, but appears to clean to a mysterious standard only he knows. It means that there is more than one tunic laying over the back of Arthur’s chairs, and dust gathers in the corners that Merlin can’t be bothered to sweep. Documents remain in a scattered mess across Arthur’s desk instead of mysteriously righting themselves into a neat stack whenever he steps away.

His meals are nearly always late because Merlin stopped to talk to someone in the halls, and his meals are suddenly accompanied by chatter. George either left to attend to other chores, or stood silently by. Merlin takes it as an opportunity to fill Arthur in on the details he always forgets when delivering his weekly dinner reports. He also ends up stealing at least a third of all of Arthur’s food.

The strangest thing of all, is that Arthur likes it. He enjoys the company, the rudeness, the disorganization. He actually really likes the disorganization. It allows him some modicum of independence when he can turn around and pick up the document he just set down instead of having to hunting through George’s neat piles. If he has to change quickly after training in order to council, he can just snatch a tunic off his dressing screen without having to wait for George to ponder the best option.

It is just so very Merlin to completely disregard all standards of living, and somehow improve said standards by the very same method.

“Time to get up!” Merlin calls as he enters Arthur’s room.

Arthur grunts, and presses his face into his pillows. If he can just get a few more minutes…

“If you go back to sleep, I’m going to eat all of your sausages.” Merlin threatens.

Arthur lifts his head from the pillows, and glares at him, “Eat my sausages, and I’ll have you in the stocks.”

Merlin smiles, “I hardly think sticking your consort in the stocks would reflect well on you, Sire.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you only call me sire when you’re in the mood to irritate me.” Arthur growls, and swings out of bed.

Merlin steals one of his sausages anyway. Arthur makes a grab for him, but stumbles over his own boots, and he gives it up as a lost cause. He doesn’t really feel like scrapping right now anyway. He collapses into his chair, and tears off a chunk of his roll, and crams it moodily into his mouth.

“Okay, who pissed in your ale?” Merlin asks, sitting across from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re never in a good mood in the morning, but today is especially bad. Wrong side of the bed, or is something bothering you?”

“You mean besides you?”

“Clever.”

Arthur sighs and drags a hand over his face, “I just have to hold a meeting with Morgana about the state of magic users in Camelot. She’s going to somehow make every transgression against her people my fault.”

“That hardly seems fair, you’re the one that relegalized magic.” Merlin says with a small frown.

Arthur shrugs, “I try to keep the peace, but it never seems to be enough.”

Merlin kicks him lightly under the table, “Trust me, people know how hard you’re trying. Morgana and I argue with you because we know you’re capable of listening. Would you have ever tried argue with Uther?”

“I did try.”

“And?”

“It didn’t ever end well.” Arthur admits.

“See, we pester you because you’re worth pestering. Need anything else before I head off to Gaius? I’ll be back to help you dress for bed.”

“You’re acting more like a servant than a husband.” Arthur teases.

“And you’re acting more like a prat than a husband, so I suppose we’re even.” Merlin responds, already heading for the door.

Arthur grins as it closes behind him. His mornings have all been much better recently.


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin breathes deeply, letting the smell of the woods settle into his bones. He’s spent his entire life in Ealdor. The hum of nature, its smell, its rhythms; his magic connects him to all of it. He likes Camelot, Gwaine, Gwen, even Morgana and Arthur, but he’s never been surrounded by so much stone before. Coming out here is a breath of fresh air both for him, and for his magic. He can feel it swirling in the warm place next to his heart, happy and alive after a couple months of disuse.

He rides next to Gwaine towards the center of the pack of knights. Behind them are Elyan and Percival, ahead Arthur, Leon, and Lancelot. He’s relieved to be back in the clothes he’s used to. Even though he dresses far more simply than anyone at court, his clothes are still far finer than he’s used to. Today, because they’re out riding, he could wear the clothes he brought with him from Ealdor.

He feels like Merlin again. Not Merlin Common Consort to the King of Camelot, not Merlin the Liar, or Merlin Gaius’s Apprentice, just Merlin. Plain old Merlin of Ealdor. Granted, he’s only allowed out on this patrol because of his marriage to Arthur, but he used to go for walks in the woods with Will all the time. Gwaine reminds him a bit of Will, and he knows that if Gwaine and Will were to ever meet, Arthur’s ego would not survive the interaction. Gwaine’s casual disregard for Arthur’s station, and Will’s general dislike of all royals would create the perfect storm, and Arthur would be swept away in it. Merlin almost wants them to meet just for the sheer hilarity of it. 

“What do you think, Merlin?” Lancelot asks, looking over his shoulder.

Merlin blinks, coming back to himself. His magic is like this sometimes, it sweeps him away in its currents, bright and golden. He sometimes feels like it’s trying to anchor him to the earth itself, turn him into a tree or a standing stone. It doesn’t scare him like it did when he was young and had no control. Now he knows that he can withstand anything his powers try to make happen.

“Think about what?” Merlin asks, “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Don’t think too hard, I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Arthur jokes from next to Lancelot.

“Good thing I have a much larger brain than yours then, isn’t it?” Merlin fires back.

It draws a laugh from the surrounding knights. Gwaine nudges him with an elbow and sends him an approving smile. Leon stifles his snort behind his hand. Even Arthur does the thing where he smile with one corner of his mouth because he’s trying to hide how funny he found something. Merlin thinks he will probably never cease to be amazed by how easily the knights accepted him into their brotherhood. They don’t know that Merlin can fight just as well as any of them when he uses his magic, but they still welcomed him into their friendship built on putting your lives in the hands of others without a blink. It’s more welcome than he ever got in Ealdor. Though, there he was always That Strange Merlin Boy and never just a child.

“What were you asking me before Arthur tried to insult me?”

“I think you’ll find I succeeded, Merlin.” Arthur shoots back, and Merlin grins a bit in response.

Lancelot looks between them, then shrugs, apparently deciding a king who gets on with his Common Consort is much better off than a king who doesn’t; even if it means being insulted in front of his men, “We were trying to decide which village to travel to next. Longstead is closer, but there’s a village to the west that could use our help more.”

“We go where we’re needed.” Merlin answers.

He’s not sure why this is even up for debate. If a village needs their help, then they should go. If anyone had thought that way about Ealdor, then maybe Merlin wouldn’t be a killer. A proper knight could have dealt with Kanen and his men, instead of the villagers taking him on with Merlin’s help.

“It would add an extra day to the patrol.” Arthur says, but it lacks the usual condescension he has when explaining a kingly decision, “I don’t know if we have enough trail rations to make it all the way there and back.”

“So we stop early tonight, and gather food for when we set off tomorrow morning.” Merlin responds. Foraging for food isn’t the easiest thing in the world, but it isn’t difficult. He can spot at least two bushes they can use just from where he’s sitting on his horse.

Arthur stares at him for a few moments, then blinks, and turns to Leon, “I suppose we have our course of action then.”

“No offense, Sire,” Leon says hesitantly, “but do you know the first thing about foraging for food?”

“No, but that’s why I have you lot.”

“Do _we_ know how to forage for food?”

“Useless, all of you.” Merlin insults cheerfully, “I’ll do it. You can sit around and look pretty.”

“Aw, Merlin,” Gwaine says and leans towards him even though it looks like he’s going to fall right out of his saddle, “are you saying you think this I’m pretty?”

Merlin snorts and shakes his head, “I think you’re pretty foolish. Does that count?”

Gwaine leans away again, and clasps his hands over his heart, “You wound me. I thought we had something special.”

“You think you have something special with everyone, Gwaine.” Elyan says from the back.

“When did this become pick on Gwaine time?” Gwaine demands.

“Around the time you tried to flirt with a married man?” Leon suggests.

“Only for three years.” Gwaine grumbles, but he grins at Merlin and shifts so he’s sitting in his saddle properly once more.

They ride on for another hour or so, trading barbs back and forth. With Merlin there, Arthur become free for material, and Merlin learns more about him than he thinks Arthur would like him to know. Leon has known him the longest, and therefore has the most stories to tell.

Merlin learns that when Arthur was thirteen, he got caught climbing into the window of a noble woman’s room. It wasn’t even because a young Arthur was particularly interested in her, but because Uther had locked him in his room for saying something a little rude at dinner. Arthur had been trying to sneak by his guards in order to sneak down to the horses, and decided climbing up one window was easier than trying to climb all the way down from his room.

He learns that Arthur and Gwaine met when Gwaine stepped in to help Arthur in a tavern brawl. Arthur was the one to start it because the man in question was harassing the barmaid, and he took great offense to it. To hear Gwaine tell it, Arthur had carried him all the way back to Camelot after he’d been stabbed in the leg. 

Lancelot and Percival met Arthur at the same time. They’d helped Arthur fight off bandits when he was smuggling the Lady Morgana to stay with the druids. That was surprising to say the least, because up until that point, Merlin had had no idea Arthur was the one to help Morgana escape. He thought Morgana has managed to run away on her own.

“Enough about me.” Arthur says gruffly after Elyan shares an embarrassing story of Arthur’s disastrous attempt to court Gwen, “What about you, Merlin? I’m sure you have a few stories to share.”

“I let a goat into Old Man Simmons’s house once.” Merlin says after some consideration.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Gwaine asks, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Yeah. He and Will would get on famously. The two of them and their pranks.

“Old Man Simmons hated me, and my friend Will. If anything went wrong for him, he blamed it on us. Or, actually, he blamed it on me, but because will stuck to me like honey he got blamed for it as well. There was a big wind storm that blew through Ealdor when I was about fourteen, and it made a mess of the entire village. Animal pens were broken, washing lines were uprooted. A few people even lost their roofs to it.

“Old Man Simmons blamed me for it. Will got it into his head that we should teach him a lesson, and I was just angry enough that I agreed. So we stole a goat from Mary’s father, and snuck up to the back door of the house. I picked the lock, Will shoved it inside, and then we locked the door behind it so it couldn’t get out. It ate a hole through two of his shirts.”

“Where did you learn to pick locks?” Lancelot asks.

The thing is, Merlin never learned. He just waved it open with his magic. He’s not ready to cop to that yet, though. His magic will have to stop being secret at some point, but not today. He wants to hold onto this feeling a little longer before the knights all forget that they adopted him.

So Merlin shrugs, and grins sheepishly, “Honestly? I never did. I just got lucky. I borrowed a left over metal scrap from the black smith, and wiggled it around until something came loose. It wasn’t a very good lock.”

“Good to know I married someone with criminal tendencies.” Arthur says dryly, but he’s smiling.

They come to a stop in the late afternoon. There’s still enough light for Merlin to see by, so he leaves his horse with Leon, and sets off to look for food. Behind him, he can hear the sounds of the knights all chattering away at each other as they set up camp for the night. Merlin can smell the smoke from the fire, even after he’s wandered far enough away to only hear the muted impressions of voices.

The underbrush cracks under his feet, and somewhere nearby he can hear the babble of a stream. It’s strange to be this alone after six months in Camelot. He’s gotten used to being surrounded by people, and he likes it. Like the ride out here, he feels like he has room to breathe again, but now that he’s spent the last couple of days in the woods, it almost feels like too much space. He’s looking forward to rejoining the knights at the campfire when he finds what he’s looking for.

The bushes grow close to the stream, and the branches are covered in perfectly ripe berries. It won’t be the most filling of food, but it will help stretch their rations long enough to get to the Western Village. Merlin whips off his scarf, and lays it flat on the ground. He piles as many of the berries on it as he can, then folds it up carefully so as not to lose any on the walk back to the campsite.

He arrives just as the last rays of sun dip below the horizon, and Arthur glances up at him as he returns, “Good of you to join us. We were just taking bets on whether you were carried off by wolves, or if you hit your head on a low hanging branch.”

“Neither. Just had to go a bit further out than I thought I would.” Merlin responds, and holds up his neckerchief full of berries.

The stew they have for dinner is thick, and Merlin hopes it will make up for the fact they’ll all be eating berries for breakfast in order to make up the strains on the rations. 

“I’ll take first watch.” Arthur says, “Get some sleep.”

The knights scramble for their sleeping rolls without putting up any form of argument. Merlin snorts to himself and sits next to Arthur by the fire.

“Funny how even though they respect you as king, none of them volunteered to take watch so you didn’t have to.” Merlin points out, and prods the fire with a stick.

Arthur smiles at him, and leans back on his elbows, “Taking watch after a long day of riding is the only downside of patrol.”

“Really? I would have thought it would be the constant threat of bandits.”

“Shut up.” Arthur says good-naturedly, “What are you still doing sitting awake? Shouldn’t you be off to sleep like the rest of them?”

“Haven’t been able to sleep.” Merlin admits, and watches a few sparks float into the air.

Arthur tilts his head to looks at Merlin, and the firelight casts his face into interesting shadows, “Why? Afraid a deer is going to prance up and carry you off?”

“You know deer. They’re absolutely terrifying.” Merlin agrees, and Arthur kicks at him playfully, “It’s loud out here. Sometimes it’s like I can hear the whole world breathing.”

“Really? You can hear that?”

“Can’t you?”

“No.”

Merlin shrugs again, and rests his chin on his knees, “You’re missing out.”

“If it’s keeping you up at night, I don’t see how I am.”

“It didn’t used to. It’s just been a while since I could hear it. Camelot has too much stone.” 

“You’re very strange, Merlin.”

Merlin turns his head, and grins at Arthur, “You keep saying that.”

Arthur smiles back, “I’ll stop when it stops being true.”

Merlin wakes the next morning to hand on his mouth. He startles awake, thrashes back against the pressure and tries to call out to someone, anyone for help. His heart beats triple time in his chest, and the world goes fuzzy at the edges as his magic starts to gather to fling away whoever it is that’s pressing down on him. Then Arthur’s face swims into view, and Merlin sag against the ground with relief. 

“Bandits.” Arthur whispers against his ear, and Merlin nods his understanding. Arthur removes his hand, keeping one finger pressed to his lips in the gesture to remain quiet.

Merlin nods his head in the direction of the bandits. He may not be able to see them, but he can hear their horses and loud laughter well enough. Then he holds up two fingers to Arthur. When Arthur just frowns at him in confusion, Merlin holds up five fingers, then ten. _How many are there?_

Arthur’s eyes widen with understanding, and he holds up ten fingers, then three more. _There are thirteen._

Merlin looks around their campsite, but doesn’t spot any of the knights. All of their bedrolls have been abandoned. He tilts his head at one, and frowns at Arthur. _Where did they go?_

Arthur walks to fingers across his palm, and makes a half circle with one finger. _They’re sneaking behind._

The first shouts echo to them moments later. Arthur jumps to his feet with a grunted instruction to stay down, and launches himself into the fight. Merlin waits about three seconds, then leaps into action as well. He’s not going to let any of his friends get hurt if he can help it. 

He hauls himself over the little ledge they used as cover for the camp last night, and ducks an arrow that goes whizzing passed his head. First things first, get rid of that damn archer. He spots him up a tree several yards from the main fight, and Merlin lets his magic whip out and knock him free from his roost. He hears the thump as the archer hits the ground, then turns his attention to the rest of the battle.

One man is sneaking up behind Percival, and Merlin drops a tree branch on him in the panic. Percival and his opponent both startle, but it gives Percival a chance to get the upper hand. Merlin sends a root to curl around the ankles of a couple men trying to take on Leon.

“Get him! Take care of him first!” the bandit leader calls from his battle with Arthur, and to Merlin’s horror, he finds the man pointing directly at him.

One of the men fighting Elyan disengages, and takes a swing at Merlin. Merlin dances away, but the tip of the sword still catches his arm, and he hisses as line of fire opens up along his skin. It’s better than being run through, but it still hurts. He can hear Arthur shouting at him, but he’s not processing the instructions. 

He moves on instinct. He jumps off the little ledge once more, and takes off running. Like he expected, the bandit runs after him. Merlin slows to a stop a few paces later, when he’s sure that none of the others can see, and turns to face his pursuer. 

“All on your own then?” the bandit asks.

“That’s the idea.” Merlin says with a grin.

His magic rips out of him, and the bandit hits the tree with a loud crack. Merlin doesn’t hang around to see if the man is still alive. He sprints back to the sight of the skirmish, desperate to know if anyone has been hurt in his time away. When he gets there, the fight is over.

The knights look a little disheveled, but no worse for wear. Arthur’s eyes are wide, and darting around the clearing. When he sees Merlin, his shoulders slump, and he walks forward to manhandle him into the safety of the knights.

“I saw the man go after you, and I thought you were lost. I don’t know what I would do if you died.” Arthur says, checking him over. 

Merlin smiles at him, and bumps him with his shoulder, “Don’t know what you would do if I died, eh?”

Arthur tears off a piece of his tunic, and bandages Merlin’s arm with rough movements, “The peace treaty would fall apart without you.”

“Just admit you were worried about me.”

“I was concerned only for Camelot.”

“Of course, Sire. Quite right, Sire.” Merlin teases, then drops his voice so only Arthur can hear, “I was worried about you too.”


	12. Chapter 12

“How many days until Princess Mithian arrives?” Merlin asks as he sits down across from Arthur at dinner.

Arthur sighs, and takes a sip of his wine, “She’ll be here in about a week.”

“That explains why cook has kicked me out of the kitchen entirely. I think she’s spent the last four months since the announcement digging up every spice, chicken, and sack of flour Camelot has.”

“It would also explain why our dinner fare has been less than appetizing as of late.” Arthur says, eyeing his stew critically.

Merlin shrugs, and tucks in. He must have had a busy day, because he’s practically inhaling it like he did the day after their wedding. After nearly a year in each other’s company, Arthur has started to pick out some of Merlin’s habits. When Gaius sends him on a lot of errands, he sacrifices proper meals in order to get them all done in a timely fashion. Then, when he gets a chance to sit down for dinner, he eats so quickly that he gets hiccups. Arthur has yet to figure out how to tell Merlin to enlist the help of some of the servants to get it all done in time so no one is running around on an empty stomach.

Another thing Arthur has learned after Merlin’s year in Camelot? He does not take direct instruction well. If Arthur insists he do anything, he is met with a level of resistance that foreign armies would envy. Merlin is a stubborn man, and fiercely independent. He does not ask for help unless the situation is properly dire, and that is something they have in common. Though, being on the receiving end of it suddenly makes Arthur understand why Morgana and Gwen despaired for so many years.

“Still better than the food in Ealdor a lot of the time.” Merlin responds as he tears off a chunk of bread to dunk in the stew.

“Have you thought about going for a visit? It’s been almost a year since you left.”

Merlin pauses with a bite of stew soaked bread halfway to his mouth, “I can go for a visit?”

“You’re not a prisoner, Merlin.”

“I know that.” Merlin says, rolling his eyes, “But I figured you were concerned that I would make a break for it the second I was away from you and your knights.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows, “Should I be concerned?”

“No. I actually like it here, and you’re fairly tolerable.”

Arthur hides his snort of laughter behind a glass of wine, “Mithian will be here for about a month. As soon as she leaves, and the dust has settled, you are more than welcome to go for a visit to Ealdor.”

“Why can’t I ride out tomorrow?”

“Because the King of Nemeth is insufferable, and you’re the only person I can complain to without them lecturing me about the importance of maintaining alliances.”

“You need me as back up.”

“I need you as back up.” Arthur agrees.

Merlin grins, pops the bite of bread into his mouth, and chew thoughtfully. He takes a sip of water to wash it down, and says, “Alright. I’ll go after Nemeth leaves. Any word from Lot?”

“None. Seems like the treaty we signed with his representative is still holding. I did receive a letter a few days after that with strong words about letting you get injured on patrol.”

“You never mentioned.”

“Your head didn’t need to be any bigger. Who knows what would have happened if I told you another king was asking after your health?” Arthur asks, and starts in on his own bowl of stew.

Merlin kicks him lightly under the table, “I think you’ll find you’re the one with a big head. After all, I’m not the one bragged to Gwaine about how many marriage proposals I got when he started counting how many people he’s slept with.”

“Only because you haven’t received any proposals.”

“That is beside the point, and you know it.” Merlin says with one of those soft little chuckles that never fail to make Arthur smile, “Your head is so big your crown barely fits anymore.”

“I am your husband, and the King of Camelot, you are meant to respect me in all things.” Arthur says, tilting his nose arrogantly in the air just to see if he can make Merlin grin even wider.

Merlin shakes his head, and spoons up another bite of stew, “If I started doing that, you’d get bored.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” 

Merlin is a mystery. He jumps from wise, to sharp-tongued, to clumsy, to foolish, to troubled, and back again as easily as breathing. Yet, he also manages to command the respect and affection of nearly everyone he meets; the council of lords notwithstanding. Merlin carries himself with ease and confidence, but is also sheepish and uncertain. Sometimes, looking at him, Arthur feels like he’s staring at the surface of a deep lake, and he only catches glimpses of what lies beneath the surface.

Then there are moments like this, when Merlin is hunkered over a bowl of stew, and Arthur gets the impression that Merlin is a bit of a disaster. Merlin crams another piece of bread into his mouth, and a few crumbs cling to his lips. It makes him looks a bit like an oversized squirrel. Arthur throws a napkin at his head.

Merlin removes it, swallows the too large bite of bread, and sends Arthur a mildly wounded look, “What was that for?”

“You have crumbs on your face.” Arthur says, gesturing in the direction of Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin swipes at his face, and raises his eyebrows at Arthur as if to ask, _All good?_ Arthur nods, and Merlin smiles and slumps back in his seat, bowl of stew thoroughly cleaned out.

“What do you want me to do while Mithian is here? Should I be, I don’t know, running around after you as your husband? Or should I be locking myself in Gaius’s rooms only leaving to deliver medicine?” Merlin asks.

“You don’t have to attend to any of the treaty meetings as it’s mostly ceremonial. I settled the issue with disputed lands shortly after my father died, so Nemeth shouldn’t be asking for any updates to the treaty. We’re just recommitting ourselves to peace. I will need you for any activities that involve Mithian. She’s a lovely woman, but I’ve learned that even the smartest of them will jump at the chance for a suitable marriage.”

“Maybe because they can’t inherit, and therefore their only chance to maintain the life they’re used is to marry rich?” Merlin suggests archly.

Arthur groans and buries his face in his hands, “Trust me, I’ve been hearing about that one from Morgana since my father’s time. That law is even more unlikely to pass than the tax measures you proposed.”

“You managed to ram a few of those through.” Merlin points out, smirking a little.

“This is the part where you suggest something, and I ignore you, isn’t it?” 

“I’m just saying that if you put something truly outrageous on the table, you might be able to ram through a more sensible version of it.”

“When did you get so good at politics?”

“When I’m not running errands for Gaius, running around after you or the knights, or hiding from various Lords who want to seek favor with you now that they know we’re friends, I read. Geoffrey doesn’t trust me to take books out of the library, so I usually end up hiding from scheming lords, and learning about politics at the same time.”

“Judicious use of time.” Arthur remarks, “Don’t breathe a word of his to Morgana. When she gets it into her head that I’m going to do something, she has a tendency to hold my feet to the fire even when it’s out of my control.”

“You know me,” Merlin jokes, “closed book.”

“I do know you.” Arthur answers, “That’s why I’m worried about you blabbing it all over the castle.”

“I keep telling you, I’m not responsible for the rumor mill. The servants in the castle all like to clean in certain spots because the sound echoes.”

“And you haven’t attempted to stop them?”

“And ruin the fun?”

“Useless.”

“You say that, but still ask me to be your back up with Nemeth.”

Arthur heaves a sighs, and abandons he end of his stew. Predictably, Merlin swoops in to finish it off. Where he puts all the extra food he eats, Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know. If he also specifically leaves a few bites at the end so that Merlin can have it, well, that’s his secret. No one else has to know that their king has a soft spot for insolent farm boy from another kingdom.

“I don’t have enough energy to spar with you tonight.” Arthur says, already feeling the weight of the visit dragging him down.

“You’re worried about this?” Merlin asks, frowning a bit.

“Not worried, just… anticipatorily exhausted.”

Merlin reaches out, squeezes Arthur’s arm, and offers him a warm smile, “They’ll have me to focus on. You won’t be as tired this time.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The party from Nemeth arrives nine days later with all the pomp that is required of a royal visit. The knights of both Kingdoms are fully decked out in their best, and Nemeth rides their finest horses into the courtyard. Even Merlin decided to honor the occasion by forgoing his usual tunic and trousers, even the ones that used to be Arthur’s, and put on the doublet he wore for their wedding day. Technically, he shouldn’t ever wear it again, but Arthur was in no mood to argue when it came to Merlin’s choice of dress. It’s not like the delegation of Nemeth will know that it was used for the wedding.

A woman dressed in all white with a heavy white veil rides a white mare, and Arthur knows that must be Princess Mithian. He doesn’t understand the need for the dramatics. He’s seen Princess Mithian before. Granted they were both sixteen last time, but it’s not like Arthur is going to fall under some irresistible lust and go chagrining after her because she might have grown into a fine young woman. He’s fairly certain that doesn’t happen outside of tales anyway, or maybe a love potion. A knight got one meant for him once, and it took Gaius nearly a week to concoct a cure.

Merlin stands wedged between Leon and Gwaine. Arthur had waned to put him in his proper place right alongside him, but both the lords and Merlin had a conniption about it, possibly the first time they agreed on anything, and Arthur compromised by giving Merlin the position usually held by the second knight. Lancelot is out on patrol anyway, so it’s not like Arthur’s choice could offend anyone. He glances at Merlin out of the corner of his eye, expecting the usual nervous shifting Merlin gets when he’s trying to make a good impression, but to his surprise, Merlin stands perfectly still and almost regal. Arthur is pleasantly surprised.

King Nentres dismounts his horse, and Arthur strides out to meet him just like he saw his father do hundreds of times. Uther may have been cruel in domestic policy, but there was no one better at being able to woo foreign kings to his way of thinking, ally or not. Arthur tries to channel some of that as he holds his arm out to greet his fellow king.

He King of Nemeth smiles broadly, and clasps Arthur’s arm like they’re old friends, “Arthur. It has been too long.”

“That it has. We are honored to host you here.” Arthur responds with a matching smile, “Was your journey here pleasant?”

“It was tolerable if not enjoyable. I’m getting older and my joints are not what they once were.”

“It is a shame to hear that.”

“It happens to us all eventually.” King Nentres says, and does a little half turn while gesturing at the shrouded figure on the horse, “Let me reintroduce my daughter, Mithian.”

The shrouded figure drops her head, exposing a regal face with dark, kind eyes. Mithian has indeed grown up to be a fine young woman. Behind him, Arthur can hear an audible intake of breath followed by a hiss of air. When he glances back over his shoulder, Merlin is watching the proceedings with a carefully innocent look on his face, but Gwaine is visibly rubbing his foot against the back of his leg and glaring. It’s easy enough to put two and two together.

Arthur turns back around, and steps forward so he can offer his arm to Princess Mithian. She sets one delicate hand upon it, and descends gracefully from the saddle. Her smile is warm and gentle, Arthur would go so far as to say she even seems a bit flattered by his attention towards her. He’s relieved about that. There’s no better way to get a king to soften towards you than to charm his daughter. One of the few lessons that Uther taught him that actually stuck.

“I am very glad to see you once more, your highness.” Arthur says politely.

Mithian smiles at him and pats his hand, “It is nice to see you as well. Last time we met you were still using pushing people into ponds as a way of flirting.”

Arthur blinks at her, surprised she even remembered the time he shoved one of the older knights in after his crush got too big for him to contain, and then he laughs, “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“I remember many things, including the fact you’ve married. Do we get to meet him, or are you locking him away somewhere?”

“Of course not.” Arthur says quickly, and turns back towards the steps, “Merlin.”

Merlin startles and nearly trips over Gwaine’s cape as he makes his way down the steps. Arthur widens his eyes at him, trying to convey the message that consorts don’t rush anywhere and that Merlin should slow down lest he trip and face plant in front of all of Nemeth. Arthur has seen many a spectacular fall from Merlin before.

He does not take the hint to slow down, but he also doesn’t fall over, so Arthur counts it as a win. He clasps Merlin on the shoulder to steady him, and turns him so he can properly introduce himself to Mithian.

“Hello. I’m Merlin.” Merlin says, and sticks his hand out to shake. Arthur sucks in some air, and glances between Nentres and Mithian, but neither of them seem offended by Merlin’s lack of courtly decorum. Quite the opposite in fact.

Mithian’s face breaks into a grin that is only beaten by Merlin’s, and she lets out a delighted laugh and shakes his hand, “It’s very nice to meet you Merlin. What is your title?” 

“Common Consort, your highness.”

“How did you get caught up in all that?”

“Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that one out for myself.” Merlin answers, and it makes Mithian augh again.

Merlin’s ability to charm just about anyone strikes again. Arthur can’t say he’s not grateful. Mithian actually enjoying part of the company on the ridiculous picnics they all have to go on will only be a benefit.

Much to Arthur’s relief, Mithian spends most of her time with Morgana. The two of them get on like a house on fire, and secretly he’s pleased. Arthur has his knights and Merlin to talk to, but Morgana only has Gwen. She could use another friend in her corner.

During the picnics, Mithian spends most of her time talking to Merlin, and Arthur has to hide his amusement behind his cup more than once. Apparently Merlin has absolutely no idea why Mithian would want to speak to him, and he sends Arthur constant confused looks whenever Mithian looks away long enough. Mithian also turns out to be far less decorous than she appears at first glance. She and Arthur have a burping contest one afternoon, and it disgusts Merlin so much that he actually walks away from them for a good deal of time. This only delights Mithian further.

All in all, it is a successful visit, and Merlin’s prediction turns out to be correct. With someone else to focus attention on, Nentres isn’t as nearly insufferable as he was when Arthur met with him to discuss the disputed territory. He seems just as fascinated as Mithian about what Merlin’s life was like before coming to Camelot. Merlin is only mildly more skilled at answering Nentres’s questions than Mithian’s, but no offense is taken because of his stumbling.

It all culminates in a big feast. Merlin sits with the knights at the lower tables, and generally make a fool of himself by trying to lean out of servants’ way when they’re serving the wine. He looks like tall grass blowing in the wind, and by the looks of things, Gwaine is letting him know it.

“Arthur, I have a proposition for you.” Nentres says, leaning in like he’s sharing a secret.

Arthur hums noncommittally into his cup, and nods.

“I would like for you to consider a union between yourself and Mithian.”

That catches Arthur’s attention. He sits up stiffly, and turns to look at Nentres with carefully concealed panic. “I’m sorry, but I am already married. I can’t break that contract without risking war with Lothian and its allies.”

Nentres nods patronizingly, “Yes. Yes. I am aware. I am hardly going to ask you to break a treaty. I do know, however, that the marriage contract is only for three years. You’ve already completed one. It will be hardly any time before you are free to do as you wish.”

At the mention of Merlin’s limited time here, Arthur’s heart squeezes uncomfortably in his chest. Merlin, even after just a year in each other’s company, is someone Arthur trusts implicitly. He would put his life at risk for Merlin, and Merlin has proved he would do the same. The thought of him leaving, of Arthur having to go back to the time before he knew what it was like to have a proper friend, is nearly unbearable. 

“I suppose that’s true, but it is well known that I intend to marry for love. I agreed to marry Merlin because the contract stipulated we were only bound together for three years. I assume you want better than that for Mithian.”

“Of course I do, but I like to think you would have time to fall in love with Mithian.”

“How so?”

“I suggest you host her for the next two years, give yourselves time to know each other, and then once the contract with that Merlin fellow is up, you marry.”

Arthur’s grip on his dinner knife tightens to nearly painful, but he smile politely at Nentres, “I’m sure you understand I need time to think about this carefully.”

“Of course. We leave in two days. I assume you can have an answer for me by then?”

“You’ll have your answer by then.”

Arthur can’t wait to leave the feast. He does feel a little guilty about it, considering how hard Merlin pushed for a more reasonable budget, but the great hall suddenly feels too hot. He can’t breathe, and the smell of the food makes him feel ill. The relief of being able to rush out of there after an appropriate time, is heady.

He returns to his room, collapses onto the end of his bed, and sits with his face in his hands. His mind is blank of all thought until the door creaks open. He sits up properly, trying to look Kingly, and says, “I can dress myself tonight, George.”

“No George.” Merlin says, and comes to sit next to Arthur on the bed, “Did something happen? You look like someone just threatened to let Morgana make all the council decisions.”

“Nentres wants me to marry Mithian.”

“You’re already married.”

“Thank you for that outstanding observation, Merlin.” Arthur snaps, “Once you and I are free of each other, he thinks I should marry her.”

“Do you want to?”

“No.” 

“Then don’t.” Merlin says.

Arthur whips around to glare at him, “It’s not that simple.”

“It is. Arthur, you’re king now. You’ve said yourself that you want to marry for love, and you’re in a position to make that happen.” Merlin says reasonably.

Arthur jumps to his feet and starts pacing, “What if Nentres takes it as an offense, and decides to declare war on Camelot?”

“He won’t.” Merlin says, coming to stand in front of Arthur and putting his hand on Arthur’s shoulders, “He knows he would be outmatched in that fight. He’s just trying to maneuver Nemeth into a better position.”

“He wants me to host her. He thinks if we get to know each other, then I’ll love her.”

“Tell him that you’re afraid it would give others the wrong idea, and you’d rather Mithian have a chance to find suitors elsewhere.”

“My kingdom needs me to make this choice with a clear head. What I want shouldn’t matter.” Arthur says, sagging against Merlin’s hands.

“You’ve already proven to your kingdom that you are willing to put personal happiness on hold by marrying me. You’ve done the arranged marriage. Do the next one for the right reasons.”

“For all the rubbish you spout, you occasionally offer very good advice.” 

Merlin grins, and shakes Arthur’s shoulder lightly, “You’re allowed to be selfish in this one thing, Arthur. I think even Morgana would agree with me on that.”

“She does, actually.”

“See?”

Arthur does. Camelot is going to be worse for the loss of Merlin.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for the moment you've all been waiting for....

“And where do you think you’re going, pretty boy?” a familiar voice calls out, and Merlin’s head snaps up.

He scans the marketplace around him, trying to find the source of the comment among the throngs of people going about their days. His eyes alight on a familiar figure in the middle of the chaos, standing still just like Merlin is. A grin splits Merlin’s face, and he charges forward, pulling the man into a hug.

“Will! What the hell are you doing here?” Merlin asks, even as Will claps him hard enough on the back to drive out some of the air in his lungs.

“Not to see your ugly face again, that’s for certain.” Will jokes gruffly, and pulls back, “We have a bit of a problem.”

Merlin crosses his arms over his chest, and lets out a put upon sigh, “I hate when you come to me when there’ a problem. It never ends well.”

Will smiles apologetically, and gives a helpless little shrug. He seems so out of place here in Camelot, like two of Merlin’s worlds are colliding before he could even prepare himself for it. It isn’t a bad thing per say, just disorienting. 

He didn’t think he would see Will again for another couple weeks at least. Nentres’s departure seemed to cause a cascade of bad luck. A sickness swept through the citadel, even reaching the servants of the castle. Merlin has been splitting his time between taking over for George again, helping Gaius, and completing his consort duties for Arthur. He’s barely had time to sleep the last month, let alone think about his trip to Ealdor. The numbers of infected have only recently started to drop, but if his family needs him, then Merlin will leave Gaius to handle it. Maybe he can make Gwaine or Lancelot ake over for him.

He draws Will out of the main walkway of the market place, and into the shade of a building, “What’s happened?”

“New warlord trying to move into the old border again. He’s swung by Ealdor a couple times, but we’ve driven him off.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He keeps coming back.” Will complains, turning his craggy face up to the sky like he’s begging for patience, “Each time he does, he brings more men. Freya set up a spell along the river that’s a week’s ride away. It tells us if he crosses over it.”

“He’s on his way back to Ealdor, isn’t he?” Merlin asks.

Will nods, “And with even more men than last time. I don’t think we’ll be able to hold him off this time.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“We could use your help teaching him a lesson, like you did with Kanen.”

Merlin shifts, squinting uncertainly at his friend, “I don’t know, Will. Last time I stepped in, I came this close to getting dragged to a pyre.”

“I know.” Will says solemnly, “Ealdor has never been kind to your lot, but it needs you. If you won’t do it for the town, do it for me and your mother. Do it for Freya.”

At the mention of Freya, Merlin’s resolve crumbles. It’s been his responsibility to care for her since he sent the vengeful witch packing, and brought Freya safely to Ealdor uncursed. She’s been through enough in her life without watching the people around her die at the hands of a greedy man, and Merlin can do something about it. Getting this man to stop will be as easy as breathing to him, and it will keep people he cares about safe.

Will is already grinning at him by the time Merlin shuffles his boot against the cobblestone and says, “Alright. Just let me tell Arthur I’m going so he doesn’t send a search party out after me. How long ago did the spell activate? Do we have time for you to stop and rest?”

“I started as soon as we heard. It’s about a two day walk from Ealdor to here.”

“Then we leave first thing in the morning. Arthur might even lend us horses so that we have time to settle in before…”

“Before you totally wipe the floor with the toe rag?”

“Will.” Merlin whines.

“Alright, alright.” Will puts his hands up in surrender, “I was only trying to show that I wouldn’t be a dick about your gifts this time. I trust you more than anyone, Merlin, I should have been better about it last time.”

Merlin smiles a bit, and squeezes Will’s shoulder, “Let me talk to Arthur, alright? And you can stay with me tonight. You should see the room they have me in. The bed is big enough to fit you, me, my mother, and an entire cow with room to spare.”

“Well I’m not going to pass up the opportunity to make fun of you for falling into the lap of luxury.”

“Come on, you ass,” Merlin says playfully, already leading Will towards the castle, “you can hang out with Gaius until I get back.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, you know.” Will says critically as he walks alongside Merlin.

Merlin raises his eyes in disbelief, “Last year I left you alone for barely a day, and when I came back you’d managed to singe your eyebrows off.”

“Excuse me for not having the ability to control fire like you do.”

“Mary manages to set fires without any help, and she has never once lit herself on fire.”

“Just shut up and take me to this Gaius.” Will grumbles.

Merlin jogs up the stairs to Gaius’s chambers, and pushes the door open. He’s leaning back in his old wooden chair when they enter, and he looks up from one of his dusty old tomes to get a good look at them. He takes one look at Will, and turns a critical eyebrow on Merlin. Gaius’s eyebrow of disapproval is almost worse than anything Merlin’s Mother could come up with. Almost.

Gaius closes his book with a thump, and asks, “Who is this?”

“This is my friend Will from Ealdor.” Merlin replies, and drags Will forward to make him greet Gaius properly, “Will, this is my Uncle Gaius.”

Recognition dawns on Will’s face and he stops hovering awkwardly behind Merlin’s shoulder, “I remember you from when we were, what? Ten? You gave Merlin that book.”

“I did indeed.” Gaius agrees, and his eyebrow slowly drops down to a more neutral position, “What can I help you with?”

“There’s been some trouble back home, and I came to get Merlin’s help with it.” Will explains, “He wants someone to babysit me while he goes to ask his fancy new husband for permission.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, and resists the urge to kick Will in the shin only because he doesn’t want to face down Gaius’s eyebrow again, “To be clear, I’m telling Arthur I’m going. I don’t need his permission to go anywhere.”

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself.” Will replies with a shit eating grin.

“Be nice to Gaius, or I’ll tell my mother about it.” Merlin threatens.

Will goes pale at that, but tries to cover it with some of his usual bluster, “Really? Threatening to tell your mother? Can’t you think of something scarier to hit me with?”

Merlin knows he’s won, though, so he doesn’t press the issue. He just grins at will, sends Gaius an apologetic look, and leaves to go find Arthur. At this time of day, Arthur should just be getting finished with the table meeting with his knights, so Merlin shortcuts across the courtyard to get to the great hall. There’s an internal route from Gaius’s rooms to the great hall, but it takes twice as long. Merlin only really used it that winter to avoid going out in the cold.

Sure enough, when he reaches the double doors, the knights are just filtering out. Leon ruffles Merlin’s hair as they pass, his usual greeting. Elyan and Percival both smile at him and offer warm hellos, and Merlin says hello back. He may not be as close to the two of them as he is with some of the others, but he likes them all the same. He’s never had this many friends at one time in his life.

Gwaine and Lancelot are still hovering inside when Merlin enters. They have their heads bowed in discussion, and Merlin decides not to interrupt them. He’ll say hello on his way out. Arthur is standing at his spot on the table, still gathering the documents he used into a neat pile. He has a tendency to shed them everywhere during the meeting, but Merlin suspects it’s an intentional ploy to avoid getting caught up in a discussion with anybody on the way out of his meeting.

He looks up as Merlin approaches, and smiles. It isn’t fair when Arthur does things like that. When his face gets all open and honest, and Merlin can see just the hint of the crooked set to his front teeth. It always makes him catch his breath, and it’s really annoying when he tries to spend most of his time being annoyed at Arthur acting like a massive prat.

“Merlin, I wasn’t expecting you.” He says by way of greeting, and Merlin shrugs.

“I would’ve just waited until tonight to talk to you, but I’m on a time limit here.” Merlin explains as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

Arthur frowns, tilting his head a bit in concern, “You sound more worried than usual.”

“I am.” Merlin admits, ignoring the insult, “A friend of mine from Ealdor arrived today. It seems that a warlord has been riding through the villages on the border, and he’s already hit Ealdor a couple of times. Will isn’t sure they have the strength to fend off another attack, not when he keeps coming back with more men. I need to go home and help.”

“Of course you do.” Arthur agrees, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. I won’t be around for dinner tonight because I’ll be packing to go.”

“I’ll meet you in the courtyard at first light with a horse for you and your friend.”

“Come again?”

“You may be an idiot, Merlin, but even you should know that you alone won’t make a difference.” Arthur says dryly, “You need someone who actually knows how to fight, and as king it is my responsibility to look out for the new territory I’ve acquired.”

“No. Arthur, seriously, it’s fine. I can take care of it.” Merlin stumbles over his words, “I helped take care of the last guy. You should stay here so you don’t get hurt.”

“What do you plan to do? Disorganize their wardrobes?” Arthur chuckles, “Don’t be ridiculous Merlin, I’m coming.”

“I don’t—” Merlin starts, but is cut off by Gwaine.

“What’s going on?” he asks, wandering away from his conversation with Lancelot.

“Merlin’s village is under attack. We’re riding out tomorrow to take care of it.”

“I’m coming too.” Gwaine says immediately.

“As am I.” Lancelot agrees as he comes to the table as well.

Merlin huffs an irritated breath through his nose, and resists throwing his hands in the air. He would feel just a little too like his mother if her did that. “I didn’t ask you to come. All I was doing is letting Arthur know I was going, and asking if I could maybe borrow a couple horses.” Merlin reminds them all.

Gwaine fixes him with a look that clearly indicates that he thinks Merlin is a fool. Coming from the man Merlin has seen fall over his own feet while drunk, it’s a little insulting.

“You’re our friend, Merlin.” He insists, “We don’t leave friends to take care of problems like this on their own.”

“Exactly.” Arthur interjects in his most superior tone, “I’ll leave Morgana and Leon in charge while I’m away.”

So that’s how he ends up mounting a horse before the sun is fully warm, with Arthur, Gwaine, Lancelot, and Will all on horses next to him. He silently curses out whatever deity thought it would be funny to make him suffer in this way, and follows Arthur lead out of the courtyard. Behind him, he can hear Gwaine and Will snickering over something. He always had a feeling those two would get on, but now that he has the proof, he sort of understands why Leon was driven to drink in the first month of Merlin’s arrival in Camelot. 

“A man after my own heart.” Gwaine says loudly, “Royals are more trouble than they’re worth.”

Arthur stiffens in his saddle, but doesn’t turn to say anything. That doesn’t stop Merlin from turning in his saddle to glare at them both.

“It’s too early for you two to be getting on.” He tells them grumpily, and next to him Lancelot snorts. He’s too much of a coward to face Merlin’s glare himself though because when Merlin turns on him, he faces resolutely forward and pretends that he doesn’t see.

“Oh come on, Merlin.” Will says cheerfully, “All I was asking was if his highness’s chamber pot was rimmed with gold.”

“With how up himself he can get, I think the whole must be out of the stuff.” Gwaine supplies helpfully.

Merlin whips back around in his saddle and ignores them as best he can. Arthur is being a surprisingly good sport about it all, and Merlin is surprised. Arthur’s temper isn’t exactly short, but he doesn’t have the patience of a saint either. Merlin’s had enough objects chucked at his head on the days he filled in for George to know that much. There must be some outside force keeping Arthur from giving into his irritation. Merlin can only hope they make it through this without Arthur strangling one of them, or maybe both.

Merlin doesn’t really blame him when he sneaks away that evening when they make camp. He needs a break from their shenanigans as well, and Lancelot seems to be the only one who isn’t wanting to lose his ability to hear purely out if self-defense. As soon as the stew he cooks up is ready, he scoops two bowls, and follows Arthur’s trail out to towards the stream nearby. They’ll let the horses water there again in the morning before they leave. They should be in Ealdor just after breakfast.

He finds Arthur sitting on a tree root, gazing out on the water as it trickles passed. His eyes are a bit unfocused, and he seems lost in thought. Merlin suspects it’s probably better not to sneak up behind a trained warrior, and decides to announce his presence with a friendly, “Don’t listen to a word Will says.”

Arthur lifts his chin from his hands, and glances over his shoulder to watch Merlin approach, “I’m not.”

“Right, because that’s not at all why you’re out here moping.” Merlin jokes as he passes Arthur a bowl and a spoon.

“I’m he king of Camelot, I don’t mope.” Arthur says severely, “And I certainly don’t listen to farm boys spout off.”

“You listen to me spout off all the time.” Merlin points out, and settles in along next to Arthur. 

“That’s different. I pay you to spout off.”

“I’m just saying if it was bothering you, no don’t interrupt. If it was bothering you, don’t let it. Will and Gwaine have both lost a lot to the hands of nobility who didn’t care what happened to them. You’re different, you care. You may be a condescending, arrogant prat at times, but you’ve gotten loads better since I started working with you.” 

Arthur glances at him then, then back at the stream, “I try to let people speak freely. I can’t really know what people think about me if they’re always under the threat of execution from me, but I worry sometimes that despite all I’ve done to right my father’s wrongs, it still won’t be enough.”

“You’re trying.” Merlin shrugs, “People know that. Trust me, I’m your common consort. I’d tell you if you were losing their good will.”

“Seems that you do have some uses after all.” Arthur replies dryly, and Merlin grins.

“You must be cheering up if you’re in the mood to insult me again.”

Arthur splashes him with some of the water from the stream.

They arrive in Ealdor just when Merlin predicted they would. As breakfast is over, most people are out to start their chores for the day. They stare as the knights ride through the town, all shiny in their ridiculous chainmail that they won’t even need because Merlin will take care of it all. He’s been managing to push this awkward eventuality out of his head since Arthur decided he was coming and bringing his two of his best knights with him. Merlin isn’t going to let them fight when he can put a stop to the whole thing on his own. The snag there, Arthur is going to know. He’s going to realize that Merlin has been lying to him for over a year. 

It’s going to be a disaster. 

His mother is out in the garden when they ride up, and Merlin barely bothers to rein in the horse properly before he’s launching himself off its back. She looks up at the sound, and a brilliant smile spreads across her face. Merlin gets pulled into a hug, and he buries his face in her shoulder, even though he’s been a good deal taller than her since he was sixteen, and inhales the familiar sent. It’s only then does he feel like he’s coming home.

They pull apart after a few moments, and she inspects his face for any changes. Finding none, she nods her approval, “Don’t stay away so long next time.”

“Sorry.” Merlin apologizes, and actually means it, “I mean to come, but things kept getting in the way.”

“I forgive you. You came when we needed you, and that’s more important than me missing you.” She finally looks over his shoulder, “You brought knights with you?”

Merlin steps to the side with a little grimace, “More like they followed me here. Mother, this is Sir Gwaine.” Gwaine steps forward and brushes a kiss against her knuckles, but she is entirely unimpressed by the flirtation, “Sir Lancelot,” Lancelot does the same as Gwaine, but without the attempt at sucking up to her, “and King Arthur.”

His mother’s eyes go wide at that, and she drops into a clumsy curtsey that makes Merlin roll his eyes behind her back. It’s only going to give Arthur a bigger head than he already has. Thankfully, Arthur decides not to rub it in for once, and gently guides her back to a proper standing position. He has that shining sincere look he gets only when he’s trying to comfort someone who’s just had a traumatic experience. 

“Please, no need to curtsey. I’m not here on any sort of kingly business. I’m only here because Merlin asked me to come.”

“I did not ask you to come!” Merlin retorts, and his mother send him a disapproving look.

Arthur grins smugly at him, and says, “I couldn’t let you come on your own, Merlin. Ealdor needs more help than your noodle arms can provide.”

“That’s very kind of you, Sire.” His mother says before Merlin can argue about it some more.

“Just Arthur, really.” Arthur insists.

“Of course, King Arthur.” She says, and it’s Merlin’s turn to be smug about it, “Why don’t you all come inside? I’ll make you something to eat. Could you boys fetch me some eggs from down the road? I traded them some vegetables yesterday for them.” This last is directed at Merlin and Will.

They both know better than to argue with Hunith, and amble off down the road to pick up some eggs. As they’re returning, basket loaded down with enough eggs to feed an army, Will grins and asks, “How likely do you think that they’ve all been adopted by the time we get back?”

“At least it’ll be funny seeing Arthur so confused.”

Hunith adopts them all, just as she does with everyone who comes her way. Arthur seems to get the most of it, however, and Merlin is certain that it’s because she’s trying to make up for Arthur not having one of his own. It’s common knowledge that Queen Ygraine died in childbirth, and Hunith has taken it on her own shoulders to retroactively give Arthur one. Merlin is also right about it being hilarious to see Arthur looking so flummoxed every time Hunith pats his cheek, or takes his hand.

It takes them until that night until they can talk strategy, He lets Arthur get as far as suggesting they teach the people to fight, before he intercedes. He won’t have anyone get hurt on his account. He may not be ready to tell Arthur out loud, but he knows what works.

“No.” Merlin says calmly.

All three of his new friends look at him with confusion, and Will grimaces knowingly.

“No?” Arthur asks, getting that crinkled look on his face that means he’s about to dig his heels into something. The only way to get ahead of that is to dig your heels in even harder.

“No.” Merlin repeats, “We’ve done this before. Too many people get hurt doing it your way, and they won’t agree to it.”

“Then what do you propose?” Lancelot asks understandingly.

“Send them all away. The five of us can hold them off.”

“No offense,” Gwaine says hesitantly, “but I don’t think even we’re good enough to hold off an entire warlord’s party.”

“My village, my rules.” Merlin says firmly, “You may know what you’re doing on the battlefield, but here? I know more than you do.”

“We follow your lead.” Lancelot agrees, and Merlin blinks at him. He’s grown closer to Lancelot, especially since coming over to Gwen’s for dinner, but he didn’t think they were at the point he would be trusted implicitly yet. He’s grateful, though, for the support. He needs it, judging by the way Arthur clenches his jaw like he’s biting back everything he wants to say.

“Thank you.” Merlin says, then leans over the makeshift map of Ealdor they put together out of twigs and eggs shells. He spreads out everyone’s pieces so they have a good view of the center of the village. He wishes he could turn them all away, but he there’s no way Arthur would agree to a plan that didn’t give him a clear shot at the enemy. Merlin wishes he could just say it aloud, he’s come close a few times throughout the day, but every time he opens his mouth to say it, the words get stuck in his throat. He just wants another day or two of Arthur’s trust before he dashes it utterly.

“Where will you be?” Arthur asks.

Merlin places the seed he’s been using as his own marker smack dab in the center of the village, “I’ll be bait.”

“No.”

“Arthur, we’ve done this before.” Merlin repeats. It makes Arthur stop arguing, but he doesn’t seem pleased by that. “Look, I’ll give you a signal when they’re in position, and you can all jump out and ambush them.”

“What’s the signal?” Gwaine asks.

“Trust me, you’ll know.” Merlin says, and exchanges a guilty looks with Will.

Plan in place, everyone starts settling in for bed. Merlin steps outside for a moment, just to get some air. Tomorrow they’ll start evacuating everyone to the woods, and he wants just a few minutes of peace before it all goes to hell. His mother comes out to join him at a certain point, and lays her hand on the crook of his elbow.

“Are you sure you’re ready for him to know all of you?” 

Merlin shrugs helplessly, “It’s either that, or people get hurt when they don’t need to. There’s not really a choice there.”

“Oh, sweet boy.” His mother says softly, and presses a kiss to his cheek, “You are far too good and brave. Try to get some sleep.”

*

Merlin stands in the center of the abandoned village, hands hanging loosely by his sides. He does his best to look casual, even though he’s jumping out of his skin. He’s not as worried about taking on the warlord as he is for what comes after. Will the peace treaty hold? Will Arthur want to keep the friendship they’ve built this last year and a half? His head is abuzz with questions and doubts he just can’t seem to shake.

Just after midday, he sound of thundering hooves break the silence Merlin has been sitting in. A band of nearly twenty come riding up, a man who could be Kanen’s son, if he ever bothered to have one, leading them all. When they spot Merlin standing alone in the middle of the road, they slow to a stop, looking entirely puzzled.

“Who are you?” the warlord asks, voice harsh and grating.

“Merlin.” Merlin responds, putting on an expression he knows makes him look a bit dull.

The warlord squints down at him suspiciously, “I don’t recall seeing here on my last few visits.”

“I was away, Sir.” Merlin says earnestly, “I was visiting my Uncle, but I’m back now.”

“Then perhaps you don’t know who I am,” the warlord sneers, “I am Ulfric. I am here for the supplies that are rightfully mine.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” 

“And you’re going to stop me are you?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even have a sword.” Ulfric laughs, and it draws laughs from all his cronies.

A smug grin pulls at Merlin’s lips, and he leans in closer like he’s going to share a secret with Ulfric, “I don’t need one.”

Ulfric opens his mouth to respond with a no doubt very witty response, but Merlin doesn’t give him a chance to speak. He flings out one of his hands, and the magic surges within him, breaking free in a happy surge of power. Half of Ulfric’s men go flying, and several of the horses that still have riders take off running in the opposite direction of Merlin and Ulfric’s confrontation.

Ulfric stares at him, wide eyed and open mouthed. Merlin doesn’t take satisfaction in using his gifts this way, but there is something satisfying in scaring a man who has hurt others. Let him know the fear he’s caused in the villages he’s raided.

“You can still leave.” Merlin says, giving him the option like anyone else with honor would, “No more raiding, no more death, and you can walk away from this.”

Ulfric snarls, and charges forward, sword raised. The few men he still has left charge after him, and they’re too close for Merlin to be able to use his magic effectively. Thankfully, the knights aren’t as stupid as Merlin likes to joke about them being. Arthur is there, his own sword preventing the downward swing of Ulfric’s. Merlin jumps behind him, letting Arthur distract for the time being.

“Forbearnan!” Merlin shouts, and the grass and straw alight under the enemy’s horses. The horses whinny in terror, and buck their riders. Men crash to the ground, leaving the knights with advantage. IN the confusion, Arthur yanks Ulfric off his horse, and a few moments of grappling, Arthur gets his sword at Ulfric’s throat.

“You heard, Merlin. No raiding, no violence, and I let you walk free.” Arthur repeats.

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Then you come back to Camelot, and face the gallows.”

“Under whose authority?” 

“Mine, as King of Camelot.”

Ulfric’s eyes widen, and he drops back onto the grass, fight gone, “I surrender and agree to your terms.”

“Keep to them, or next time you won’t find me so merciful.” Arthur hisses.

The fight is over as quickly as it began. Ulfric and the two men not killed in the fight scatter to the wind, and Merlin sands behind Arthur, staring at his back. 

Gwaine is the first to approach. His grin is broad and impressed a he claps Merlin on the shoulder, “That was brilliant, old friend! Next time just tell us what you’re thinking.”

Lancelot is more solemn, a quiet “thank you” with mischief dancing in his eyes. 

Arthur turns, but doesn’t look in Merlin’s direction. His jaw is clenched, his fists are bunched at his side, and he shoulder checks Merlin hard as he walks passed. Merlin looks to Will, but finds no reassurance there. Arthur is angry, and there’s nothing Merlin can do about it.


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur can’t figure out why Will keeps holding him back, even when Merlin decides to be idiotic and face down Ulfric on his own. A stiff breeze could knock Merlin over, and he’s standing in the middle of the road like he hasn’t a care on the world. It makes Arthur twitchy. Merlin getting hurt is never something he wants to happen. As loathe as Arthur is to admit it, Merlin has become his friend over the course of their time together. The thought of him laying on a dirt road in a tiny village, bleeding out because he has being brave, makes Arthur ill. 

Even when Ulfric begins to laugh, Will still doesn’t release his grip on Arthur’s arm. He shakes his head sternly, reminding Arthur a lot of Geoffrey of Monmouth when he was trying to teach him to read, or quizzing him on history. Then Arthur can hear Merlin say, “I don’t need one”, in a much darker tone than anything Arthur has heard from him before, and Ulfric’s men go flying with a flick of Merlin’s wrist. Only then does Will release his grip on Arthur’s arm.

Arthur stays crouched where he is for several seconds, reeling from the shock. Merlin has magic. Merlin has had magic the entire time he’s been at court, and he never told Arthur. That’s what hurts the most. That’s what makes Arthur so angry that he feels like he can’t breathe. He trusted Merlin with not just Consort duties to the people, but with parts of Arthur himself that he’s never shown anyone before. Merlin has seen him in the mornings before he was fully awake. Merlin has shouted at him, challenged him to make better decisions even if they were unpopular with the council. Merlin advised him on matters of the heart. And all this time, Merlin never trusted him back. Merlin never shared beyond a few inane stories from his childhood. Merlin kept himself a closed book when Arthur was more open to him about things than he is even with Morgana. 

Ulfric’s sword swings down towards Merlin’s head, and Arthur is moving before he’s even fully aware of what he’s doing. As angry as he us right now that still doesn’t make him want Merlin hurt. The idea is just as abhorrent to him as it was a few moments ago. He catches Ulfric’s sword with his own, slotting himself in front of Merlin, using his own body as a shield for someone who may not even deserve Arthur’s care. Behind him, Merlin shouts something in the language that must be common to sorcerers, he’s heard Morgana use it often enough.

Fire bursts forth in front of him, and for a moment Arthur is convinced that the flames will engulf him as well. They don’t. Even where they lick against the exposed skin of his face, they are warm, not hot. It feel like a brush of fingertips against his face, steady and caring. Ulfric’s horse rears, frightened by the flames dancing around is hooves, and Arthur spots the opportunity. He reaches out, gets ahold of Ulfric’s ridiculous coat, and pulls. He tumbles out of the saddle and hits the ground with a loud thud. Around them, the flames die out.

He presses the tip of his sword into Ulfric’s throat, and considers just running him through then and there, but he promised to play by Merlin’s rules, and unlike some people, he’s a man of his word. 

“You heard, Merlin. No raiding, no violence, and I let you walk free.” Arthur repeats the terms that Merlin set.

“And if I don’t agree?” Ulfric sneers, and Arthur wonders why he thinks he’s going to get out of this when it’s been made perfectly clear he won’t.

“Then you come back to Camelot, and face the gallows.”

“Under whose authority?” 

“Mine, as King of Camelot.”

Ulfric’s eyes widen, and he drops back onto the grass, fight gone, “I surrender and agree to your terms.”

“Keep to them, or next time you won’t find me so merciful.” Arthur warns, and pulls his sword away from Ulfric’s throat. 

Ulfric scrambles back on the burnt out grass and hay, and staggers to his feet. Behind him his men run into the woods that border Ealdor, hopefully never to bother anyone again. Ulfric staggers after them as soon as he gets his bearings, and Arthur watches them flee. They were all cowards, attacking a village without any defenses, and he hopes the story of their defeat spreads wide. He wants everyone to know that he won’t tolerate this kind of violence within his borders. If his own presence wasn’t enough, then perhaps Merlin’s will be. 

Speaking of which, he can hear he celebrations going on behind him. He can hear Gwaine practically vibrating with excitement, no doubt thinking up numerous ways Merlin’s magic can be used to send the castle into chaos with pranks. Lancelot is more subdued, but still grateful, as is his way. Arthur wishes he could be excited by this revelation like them, but he can’t even bring himself to look in Merlin’s direction. He doesn’t actually mean to shoulder check Merlin, but it does make him feel a little better.

He ignores it when Merlin calls after him. His voice is soft, unsteady. Unsure in a way that Arthur never thought he could associate with Merlin. Arthur keeps moving, knowing that he’s too hurt right now to have a rational conversation about this, he’ll only yell and scream. It won’t make either of them feel better, except for maybe satisfying the part of Arthur that sounds too much like Uther. The part of him that wants to verbally rip Merlin limb from limb just so he can start to feel as hurt as Arthur is right now. He learned long ago, however, that satisfying that Uther-ish part of himself will never end well. So he takes a deep breath, mounts his horse, and rides out to tell Ealdor it’s safe to come home.

They insist on hosting a feast in their honor, and no amount of arguing from Arthur will dissuade them from their course of action. Gwaine is delighted to go along with it, and even helps men stack wood for a large cook fire. Lancelot pitches in here and there with chopping vegetables, but when Arthur tries to help he is shooed away. The strange thing about it all, is the way they treat Merlin. 

He moves to pitch in like he was taught, and people flinch away. They eye him nervously, and try not to be left alone with him for very long. Despite this victory being mostly Merlin’s for all the work he did scaring the hell out of Ulfric and his men, the villagers don’t seem to be pleased to see him. He has Will and his mother, a young woman with wide dark eyes that only seem to light up only when she’s near Merlin (Arthur thinks her name is Freya), and a young man with broad shoulders and dark hair who might be named Fish or something like that. Everyone else seems to shift away from him, and Arthur can’t fathom why. He just saved them all from starvation.

Some of his anger starts to fade by the time a third cup of ale is pressed into his hands, but he still can’t bring himself to confront Merlin. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. Walking up and demanding “why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends!” seems too childish, but anything else he might want to ask is pushed away as that thought carries on a loop. 

Merlin sends him furtive glances across the fire hat Arthur can’t bring himself to return. Until he understands why Merlin did what he did, the hurt is just going to keep pulsing through him in a dull ache. He doesn’t understand why Merlin didn’t trust him with this until it became unavoidable. 

Someone settles next to him in front of the fire, and when he turns his head, it’s to see Lancelot eyeing him sympathetically. He smiles softly at Arthur and says, “Don’t freeze him out too long, Sire, for both your sakes.”

“What does that mean?” Arthur snaps. Feeling the urge to throw something just so he can have a physical release for all this confusions and hurt.

“Merlin is good for you,” Lancelot says easily, “we’ve all noticed how you’ve grown more confident in your choices since you started working with him. And you’re good for him as well. When I first met Merlin, he kept everything more locked down than you did, and now he’s started letting us see more. You’re better for having each other.”

“If that’s so, then why didn’t he trust me?” his voice is bitter.

Lancelot shrugs, “I can’t say what Merlin was thinking, but Gwaine and I both traveled far and wide before coming into your service, and we can both attest to the fact that magic is on thin ice at the best of times, outlawed at the worst. You can’t blame a man for wanting to keep himself safe.”

“I relegalized it!” Arthur shouts, and drops his voice when curious eyes turn toward him, “I relegalized it. How can he think I would betray him after that?”

“That is something you’ll have to ask Merlin.” Lancelot says reasonably and takes the cup from Arthur’s hands, “But I know you’ll just be in a worse mood tomorrow if you keep drinking. Drink some water and go to bed, my lord.”

“You do realize that you’re not my mother?”

Lancelot chuckles as he stands, and pats Arthur on the shoulder, “Usually we leave Leon to those duties, but he’s not here and Gwaine is drinking more than you.”

Arthur does as Lancelot suggests. He wanders away from the warmth of the fire, and his head already feels clearer for standing in the cool night air. He takes several deep breaths, trying to settle his racing thoughts. The only person he’s going to get answers from about this is Merlin, but that will just have to wait until they’re back in Camelot. He doesn’t want to get into this fight while they’re out on the road. That isn’t the way to do things. 

He draws up a bucket from the well and drinks deeply from it. He splashes some of the chilly water across his face, and makes for Hunith’s cottage. He collapses on the makeshift bedroll that he shared with Merlin the night before, and tries not to think about the fact he shared a bed with a liar. He has to cling to the hope that Lancelot gave him. Merlin must have his reasons, and Arthur will have to judge whether those reasons are good enough to warrant keeping a secret like this from someone who thought there was hope for friendship.

Merlin must not come home that night because Arthur isn’t woken by his boney elbow prodding him. He tosses and turns the whole night, missing the warmth of Merlin next to him on that cold stone floor. It only gets worse when Gwaine starts snoring. It isn’t as loud and obnoxious as Lamorak’s, not by a long shot, but even the soft noise is enough to drive him mad. He refuses to budge from under his blankets, however, if Merlin wants to be a coward and avoid Arthur, then so be it.

Arthur finally gives up on proper sleep around dawn, and staggers outside. Hunith is already there, basket of eggs hanging from her elbow. She takes one look at him, and her face goes all soft and motherly with concern. He must look a right mess. He knows what he looks like after a night of too little sleep, Morgana has delighted in making sure of that. His hair is probably sticking up at the back, and he wouldn’t be surprised to learn of dark circles under his eyes.

Hunith sets a firm, but gentle, hand on his elbow and start steering him back towards her cottage, “I’m sure he didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Arthur flinches, and his jaw clenches reflexively. He’s hyperaware of the dew soaking into the hem of his trousers. “Then why didn’t he tell me?”

“I taught him since birth to keep it hidden. Even when he did hide it, it wasn’t always enough to keep him safe. You’ll have to ask him about what happened when he was twelve.”

“It’s not your fault.” Arthur says firmly even as he wonders what happened when Merlin was twelve, “It was on his head to trust me, not yours.”

“Perhaps, but the lessons we learn as children stick with us far more than we would like.” Hunith says, sounding a good deal like Lancelot, “All I ask is that you give him a chance to explain. You are dear to him. I could tell from the second he introduced us. He hasn’t looked at anyone like that since he was fifteen and love sick over Will.”

“I would hardly count Merlin as love sick over me.” Arthur says indignantly. Certainly not enough to tell Arthur about the magic.

Hunith smiles mysteriously, “Oh, I don’t think he’s clued in yet. For all that he’s a brilliant young man, he wouldn’t know how to identify love if it bit him on the nose.”

“Where is he anyway?” Arthur asks, desperately trying to change the subject to something less awkward.

“I think he spent the night with Will and Freya. He and Will have been inseparable since they were children, and Freya has missed him. He’s one of the few people she actually trusts.” Hunith explains as she opens the door to her home, “Don’t worry, he’ll be there when you’re ready to leave.”

To Arthur’s horror (delight?) Merlin is in fact there when I comes time to leave. His eyes are red, and Arthur’s heart twists in his chest at the thought that maybe Merlin has been crying, then reins himself in. He’s already decided he won’t make a decision until they’re back in Camelot and has heard Merlin’s side of things. Merlin sits astride his horse like he was born to it and not like he learned just to go on patrol with the knights. Arthur remembers that fight a few months back in new light. There was no way for them to have fought off those bandits as easily as they did, and Merlin never said exactly what happened to the bandit that chased him, claiming that he’d shaken him. It’s clear now that Merlin had used magic to help them, even then. It stings a little, knowing that Merlin thought he had to work in the shadows.

They ride in silence for most of the first day, only interrupted by Gwaine or Lancelot trying to lighten the tension. It helps a bit. Merlin treats them all to one of his sunshine grins that Arthur has come to think so fondly of, but the fondness makes him feel a bit ill. It mixes with the confusion, betrayal, and disappointment. It makes him worry that his fondness for Merlin was misplaced, that he’s been played for a fool once more. 

They make camp that night, and that’s when Gwaine apparently decides he’s had enough. He settles in right next to Merlin with a huge grin, and knocks shoulders with him as easy as you please. Merlin frowns at him, clearly caught off guard, but makes no move to push him away. 

“Alright then, we’ve seen some of what you can do. Show us more.” Gwaine demands.

“More of what I can do?” Merlin asks, voice a little rough with disuse.

“Magic. You knocked those men about like they were nothing, and set fire to grass with your mind. Show us more.”

Merlin sends a nervous glance Arthur’s way, and Arthur stares at him blankly. He’s not going to deny permission to Merlin to use magic, he has no right to. He lifted the ban, and he’s sticking to that. He isn’t going to reverse it because someone didn’t tell him about their magic.

“Alright.” Merlin says hesitantly, and stretches his hand out towards the fire. 

Instantly, the flames begin to twist as is caught in a wind. They wrap in on themselves, and flatten. Sparks leap from the kindling to join the flames themselves, and suddenly Arthur realizes he’s watching a scene unfold. A brave knight made of flame charges across a battlefield, and clashes with a man nearly twice his size. Their swords clash in a shower of sparks, and they break away again. The image slowly dissolves. With Gwaine’s encouragement, Merlin brings one of the bards’ tales to life. It depicts a warrior fending off monsters, and coming out alive. Gwaine demands another and another, and each time he does, Merlin’s smile grows a little wider.

By the fifth time Gwaine demands another tale, Arthur finds himself snapping, “He isn’t a toy, Gwaine, for god’s sake.” before he can really stop himself.

Merlin snatches his hand back from the flames and glares so hard at Arthur, Arthur thinks he might get swallowed by the flames Merlin just controlled, “I apologize, Sire. I was only trying to have some fun.”

The way he says sire makes it sound like he’s just stepped in horse dung. 

“I’m going to sleep.” Arthur says gruffly, and bundles himself into his cape as far from the fire as he can get. 

They arrive in Camelot the next morning, and Lancelot sends him a significant look as though he’s trying to repeat his words from their last night in Ealdor without actually having to repeat them. _Don’t freeze him out too long_. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t snap at Merlin when he starts following him to his chambers. Wisely, Merlin keeps his mouth shut as they go. This isn’t an argument that should be had in front of other people.

They enter Arthur’s chambers, and Merlin closes the door behind them. Arthur wanders over to his window, and stares down at the courtyard. He’s going to have to confront Merlin eventually, but he just wants a few moments to collect his thoughts. Apparently Merlin’s patience has worn thin because he shuffles further into the room.

Arthur can see his reflection in the glass of the window as Merlin leans forward a bit, face creased with nerves, and says, “You didn’t speak to me the whole way home.”

“That is because I am angry.” Arthur says, trying and failing to keep his voice level.

“Why?” Merlin asks softly.

Arthur whirls around, anger getting the better of him for a moment, and shouts, “I know this whole marriage thing was uncomfortable for you, Merlin, but I thought we were friends!”

“We are!” Merlin shouts back, hands clenching at his sides.

“Really?” Arthur asks, mockingly, “Then why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me about your magic?”

“You have no idea, do you?” Merlin asks, voice deathly calm. The anger must run deeper than it did even when Merlin was upset about the first council meeting. It sounds far too close to the voice he used on Ulfric for comfort, but Arthur has never been good at backing down from a challenge, verbal or otherwise. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, and raises his eyebrows, “No idea about what?”

“You have no idea what it’s like to grow up knowing that people will hate you for something you didn’t choose. You have no idea the power _you_ have over people, or what it’s like to struggle to survive.” 

“I don’t see—“

“No! You don’t see!” Merlin shouts, effectively cutting him off, “I know you helped Morgana, but she’s your sister! She was always going to have your protection! I’m here because Lot thought you didn’t have any idea how us commoners live, and you don’t! Not really! This is just one more aspect of our survival that you were blind to! You didn’t even consider that losing your friendship would hurt more than never being honest, let alone how scary it might be to be contractually obligated to you if it turned out that you _only_ trust Morgana with magic! I’m sorry I hurt you, I am, but for once this is about me, not you. I wanted to tell you from the moment I knew I could trust you, but that doesn’t mean all those doubts and fear suddenly go away.”

The silence after that is ringing. Arthur is at a loss as to what to say. He had an idea of what life was like for Morgana when her magic came in, but he never considered how much harder it might be for Merlin. He grew up without protection. Arthur feels the hurt ebb away as quickly as it came on, Merlin was never a liar, he was survivor.

“I didn’t realize…” Arthur stumbles, and shakes his head, “I’m sorry.”

Merlin’s anger seems to flee him as well, and he meets Arthur’s eyes with a small measure of hope, “Does this mean we’re okay.”

“Yes.”

Merlin sighs and sags down to sit on the end of Arthur’s bed, “Good. I don’t like it when we fight.”

The laugh that bubbles out of Arthur’s chest is unexpected, but no unwelcome. He joins Merlin on the bed. “I don’t either.” He admits, and casts about for anything he can find to lighten the mood, and settles for embarrassing Merlin, “So tell me about will.”

Merlin groans loud enough to make the windows rattle, “How did you know?”

“Let’s just say you have a certain effect on people.”

“He’s been my best friend since I was young. He was the first person besides my mother to know about my magic, and the only one until you and the knights to be okay with it. I was head over heels for him for about a year, but now he’s more my brother than anything.”

“He didn’t seem to like me much.”

“My mother, Freya, and I are about the only people he likes.” Merlin says with a grin.

Arthur smiles at him, but remembers something else Hunith told him on their last morning there. “Merlin,” he asks gently, “what happened when you were twelve?”

Merlin’s shoulders hunch in, and Arthur has never seen him look so small or defeated, “A group of older boys found out about me. That winter, just before the river was fully frozen, they dragged me to the bridge and threw me off. They were trying to drown me. I would have too, but Will got me out.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

That in itself is bone chilling. How many other instances of this has Merlin put up with? How many other times has Merlin been hurt because Arthur wasn’t there to protect him? The way the people of Ealdor reacted, except for those few Merlin called friend, suddenly takes on a much darker light. Merlin saved them all, but it still wasn’t enough to earn their trust or respect. Merlin must have thought that Arthur was reacting the same way, and that hurts worse than the secret Merlin kept.

Arthur grips Merlin’s knee with one hand, and leans in, trying to be supportive even if he doesn’t know how, “You have my word, as long as you’re in Camelot, you will always have my protection.”

Merlin’s eyes flick to him, hesitant and unsure, “I’m not a good person, Arthur. The last time I protected Ealdor, a lot more of the raiders died.”

“You protected your home, Merlin.” Arthur says, willing him to believe it, “There may be no honor in killing, not really, but there is honor in protecting people, especially those who would not do you the same courtesy.” 

“I’m sorry that I lied.” 

“I’m sorry I made you doubt my loyalty. You are my friend, Merlin. Perhaps the best friend I’ve had other than Leon. You will always have my loyalty, and my protection.”

Merlin lunges then, and wraps him in a hug. Arthur sits, frozen awkwardly in shock. He can’t remember the last time anyone hugged him, even Morgana. Hesitantly, he brings his arm up and wraps it around Merlin’s back. They both need the comfort.


	15. Chapter 15

He really should have been expecting this. Secrets never last long in Camelot, and he pretty effectively blew the secret he had been guarding his entire life when he took out Ulfric. So, yes, he should have been expecting this. That doesn’t make it any less intimidating to be cornered in Gaius’s chambers by Morgana, one eyebrow raised. 

“You have magic.” She says, squinting at him suspiciously.

Merlin scratches at his jaw and offers her an awkward smile, “Yeah.”

“How long?” she asks, taking a step further into the room.

Merlin doesn’t actually take a step back, but it is a near thing. He’s grown closer to Morgana in his time here, and really he thought this confrontation would come much sooner than four months after the fact, but things have been busy. Something about coordinating planting schedules, and trying to organize for observation of Old Religion holy days. Still, he’s just hoping to come out of this mostly intact. He’s been here for over a year and a half now, and if anyone is going to be irritated with him for hiding his magic this long, it’s going to be the one open magic user in court. Arthur had forgiven him fairly quickly because despite all appearances, Arthur actually understands fear and compassion. Merlin is sure that Morgana has that capability as well, but, well, it might not extend far enough to cover his situation. He wouldn’t be surprised to find that Morgana thought he should have been able to trust her, magic solidarity and all that. But trusting her would have meant trusting her to keep it from Arthur, and he’s not under any delusions as to where her allegiances lie. If she had been under the impression that Merlin or his magic were a threat, she would have gone to straight to Arthur. Hell, she might have gone anyway because she thought Arthur should be filled in on all things. As stressful as it was, Merlin can’t really think of a different way to do what he did.

“I was born with it.” He admits finally.

Morgana stops in her tracks, eyes going wide with surprise, “That’s impossible.”

“Not completely.” Merlin sits up straighter at Gaius’s workbench, “I’ve been able to do some reading since I got here, and it isn’t impossible, just very rare. A one in a thousand chance, really. But, here I am.”

Some of the harshness eases from Morgana’s face, and she eases herself down on the bench opposite him, “So you’ve been hiding your entire life.”

Merlin nods jerkily, “I’ve never know anything different. I’m sorry I lied to you all, I just didn’t know how to go about telling you, and at first I wasn’t even sure I could trust any of you.”

“Merlin,” Morgana’s smile is gentler than Merlin thought her capable of, “I know what it’s like to hide what you are, be scared of becoming a monster. I thought you were lying to toy with Arthur or further an agenda of some kind. I thought you were like me, only hiding for a few years before being free to resume your life. Of course if you’ve been hiding it your entire life you wouldn’t know any other way to exist. I’m sorry that I assumed the worst.”

“I didn’t exactly give you a reason to think otherwise.” Merlin points out in the interest of being fair. 

“You have more than proved yourself to us.” she insists, “You’re a friend, and you’ve proven to be a lover, not a fighter. You did what you thought was right, and I am in no position to question you on that.”

“Thank you.”

“That being said,” Morgana says with an evil grin and grips his hand hard in hers, nails digging into the delicate skin at the back of his hand, “if you upset my brother in this fashion again, I won’t be pleased.”

“Understood.” Merlin says quickly.

Morgana releases his hand, and leans back, apparently satisfied that her warning has hit home, “Now, I want you stop whatever errands you’re doing for Gaius, and come with me.”

“Oh! I can’t. I’m in the middle of brewing—”

“I’m not asking.” 

“Do you really want to listen to Gaius go on about how his potion got ruined?” Merlin asks critically, “You may be a powerful sorceress, My Lady, but I don’t think even you can withstand the eyebrow.”

Morgana frowns a bit, as if considering this, and nods, “Fine. Finish brewing that potion and then come find me, and do away with the ‘my lady’ nonsense. I’ve only just got Gwen to stop, and I get enough of it from the lords.”

“Alright. Morgana it is then.” 

“Thank you.” Morgana says as she stands, and she grins mischievously at him, “I am going to enjoy having another magic user around. It can get lonely without someone who understands.”

“I know that feeling better than you think.” Merlin agrees with a raise of his eyebrows, and turns back to the pot he was stirring before, “Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll be reading in my chambers until you come find me.”

With that, Morgana sweeps from the room. Merlin watches her go from the corner of his eye, feeling oddly relieved. He’s never been friends with another magic user before, before Morgana he’d never even spoken to another magic user. Or, if he had, they weren’t open about their practices. This is the first time he’s ever had the chance to befriend someone like him, someone who understands some of the fear he still feels whenever anyone talks about magic too openly.

He peers down at Gaius’s book, squinting at the cramped text on the page. The instructions for the potion are incredibly specific, and considering Merlin had never touched more than his mother’s salve growing up, he probably shouldn’t be left alone with this, but Gaius had been called away in the middle, and rather than let it go bad, decided Merlin could be left in charge. He keeps getting left in charge of things, and he has no idea why. Arthur left him in charge of the welfare of the people, Gaius left him in charge of this potion, Gwaine put him in charge of all future pranks, and really, he isn’t qualified to be in charge of anything more than Arthur’s socks. Some days, he feels like he’s going mad with all the faith people have in him now.

He stirs the brew counter clockwise, and drops in a pinch of whatever powder Gaius left for him. A cloud of steam erupts in his face, and he backs away hacking and coughing. The smell is not unlike rotten fish. He inches his way back to the table, and uses the spoon to poke at the sluggish mixture in the pot. It’s a rather unsightly brown, and Merlin grimaces to himself. How he managed to mess up a potion with the instructions sitting right next to him will be a debate for the ages. He scans he instructions once more, and comes to the horrifying realization that he didn’t actually mess this up. The potion is genuinely meant to smell like rotten fish. He feels sorry for whatever sad soul has to be treated using this. Even for Gaius, this concoction is foul.

The potion finishes quickly after that, and he has no excuse not to seek out Morgana. He does, however, stop by his own chambers on the way to hers. He has a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t appreciate him stinking up her rooms with the smell of Gaius’s potion. He changes clothes, dumps the dirty ones under the window, and then opens the window for good measure. He won’t have time to clean them until later, and he doesn’t want his own room smelling like that potion any more than he wants Morgana’s to smell.

He’s almost to her rooms when he collides with Arthur. They both stumble back, and when they straighten, Arthur fixes him with an irritated and slightly offended expression.

“Are you at all capable of walking?” 

Merlin rolls his eyes at the insult, “I’m sorry, I thought the Knights of Camelot had better instincts than that.”

“Your clumsiness is almost supernatural.” Arthur grumbles, “It’s impressive.”

“You think I’m impressive?” Merlin asks with a cheeky grin.

Arthur sputters for a few seconds before exclaiming, “No!”

“Oh I think you do.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Why are you at Morgana’s rooms? This crush you harbor on her is getting inappropriate.” 

“You really think I have a crush on Morgana?” Merlin asks, annoyed, “I barely spend any time with her. I’m always with you or the knights. I barely have time to see Gwen anymore, and she was the first friend I made here.”

“Why else would you be going to her rooms?” Arthur asks, looking pleased. Clearly he thinks he caught Merlin out. It’s a little endearing really.

“You’d have to ask _her_ that. It will probably have to do with the… you know…” Merlin wiggles his fingers to indicate his magic.

It’s Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to talk about it in code. We’ve discussed this.”

“Sorry. I’m not used to being able to be open about it.”

Arthur sighs, and claps Merlin on the shoulder, “Have fun with your magic lesson. Tell Morgana I prefer the castle stay in one piece.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you came.” Merlin suggests, “It might make her feel like you’re actually supporting her.”

Arthur hesitates for several moments. He doesn’t tend to wear his emotions on his face very clearly, but Merlin can tell that he’s genuinely considering it. Arthur glances down the corridor, then back at Morgana’s rooms, and back down the corridor. Merlin knows what the answers is going to be even before Arthur opens his mouth. He’s disappointed, but not surprised.

“I really don’t have the time.” Arthur admits, “If you decide to make it a regular thing, write up a schedule and I’ll find a time to come.”

It isn’t a rejection, and Merlin will count that as proof that Arthur isn’t still angry about what happened,. So he smiles and nods, and says, “I’ll do that.”

“See that you do.” Arthur says, but he’s smiling too. He give Merlin’s shoulder a friendly little shake, and continues on his trajectory. Whatever Kingly duties he has to complete must require immediate attention.

Merlin walks the last few steps to Morgana’s rooms and knocks. The door opens, and he finds Gwen smiling up at him. It feels like ages since the last time he saw her, and Merlin can’t stop himself from shouting, “Gwen!”

She laughs and steps aside to admit him to Morgana’s rooms. “It’s good to see you too.”

“I haven’t meant to be spending so much time with the knights.” 

“You want to spend time with Arthur.” Gwen dismisses, but Merlin can’t quite read her tone, “I understand. I want to spend time with Lancelot whenever I can get it.”

“Still.”

“Don’t be silly. Now go on. Morgana is waiting for you and she’s being worse than a five year old about it.”

Merlin finds Morgana sitting regally in front of her mirror, pinning elaborate braids out of her face. It suits her well, but it does seem like rather a lot of work to do whenever she wants to do something active. She would be better off just pulling it into a bun like Gwen does, or cutting it off all together. Although, as part of her duties are to entertain other women that travel to court, perhaps cutting it all off might be a bit of a stretch.

She smiles into the mirror when she sees his reflection, and turns around to face him, “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Magic.” Morgana responds, eyes sparkling.

Merlin spends the next several hours entertaining Morgana with various spells. The real excitement comes when he makes her hairbrush and various cosmetics dance through the air without casting a spell. He’s been levitating objects since he was a baby still in the crib, but according to Morgana that shouldn’t be possible just as being born with magic shouldn’t be possible. There’s a mention of research and getting Gaius involved, and Merlin has a sinking feeling that Morgana is going to attempt to turn him into a science experiment. 

When Merlin is finally allowed to leave, he pauses on his way out and, against his better judgement, says, “The knights and I were going to go to the tavern in two weeks’ time. Do you two want to come?”

Gwen lights up with hope and twists her hands nervously in her apron, “I don’t know. Isn’t that their time to bond?”

Merlin shrugs, “They do more than enough bonding in the armory. One night won’t kill them, and I think it would be good for them to see that there isn’t as much distance between themselves and Morgana as the lords want them to think.”

“Will you invite Arthur?” Morgana asks.

“I’ve tried before, but he insists that he let his men have their time to blow off steam. He thinks that they complain about him when he’s not around, and doesn’t want to take that away from them, no matter that I tell him he receives all complaints to his face.”

Morgana chuckles and nods, “Sounds like Arthur. Alright, I’ll come.”

“Gwen?” Merlin asks.

“I’ll come too. It would be nice to see more of Lancelot.”

As he walks off to get on with the rest of his duties, Merlin realizes something. He isn’t really looking forward to returning to Ealdor. He always thought that by the time the contract was up, he’d be off like a shot. Ealdor was never the most welcoming to him, but it was home. Now, he thinks about leaving Gwen and Morgana behind and finds that even seeing Will and his mother again aren’t enough to make up for the hole their friendship will leave, let alone the hole Gwaine’s friendship will, or Lancelot’s. He’d even miss Leon. Against all odds, he’s made a home in Camelot and thinking of leaving makes him more homesick than actually leaving Ealdor.

*

“She drank Gwaine under the table.” Merlin says around a bite of dinner, “Gwaine!”

Arthur’s nose crinkles and he takes a sip of wine, “I’ve seen Morgana at feasts. She holds her liquor better than you, I’ll give her that.” He ignores the indignant noise that Merlin makes at the insult, “But she should have never been able to drink Gwaine under the table.”

“I don’t know how she did it, but she did. Gwaine fell over rather than tap out.” Merlin says and kicks off his boots so he can get comfortable in his chair, dinner now finished. He ignores the pointed look Arthur gives him about it.

“Are you sure she didn’t cheat?” Arthur asks, kicking Merlin’s boots under the table so they aren’t a tripping hazard.

Merlin frowns at him, “How would she cheat? I watched her drink it all.”

“I don’t know.” Arthur says, waving his hand distractedly, “Isn’t there a spell or something she could do to make it seem like she was drinking?”

“I don’t…” Merlin trails off as he remembers a spell from the book Arthur accidentally bought him as a marriage gift, “Oh. Gwaine is going to be furious.”

Arthur throws his head back, laughing loud and long. Merlin likes Arthur like this the best; unburdened by his duties, happy and young, handsome. Merlin thought him handsome on their wedding day, but it was easy to forget over the course of their time together with the frustration of trying to do his job and hiding his magic. It wasn’t until Arthur vowed that Merlin would always be under his protection that Merlin remembered just how handsome Arthur can be. It’s haunted him ever since, how much he wants nights like this to stretch on and on, how kind Arthur is under the insults, how it makes Arthur even more handsome. 

Merlin is going to miss Arthur most when he has to return to Ealdor. He fits with Arthur better than he’s fit with anyone except for Will, and Will has an unfair advantage having known Merlin since they were tiny enough to be carried around on their mothers’ hips. Arthur has proved himself willing to sacrifice himself for Merlin the few times they were attacked on patrol, and again in the fight with Ulfric. Arthur has shown that he has Merlin’s back, even while angry. None of this is something Merlin is looking forward to giving up, and his heart throbs painfully in his chest every time he considers it. His feelings for Arthur feel too big for him some days, like they’re going to burst right out of his skin along with his magic.

Oh god. He’s in love with Arthur. Oh no. Not good.

“You alright?” Arthur’s voice interrupts Merlin’s impending panic. 

He jerks his head up to meet Arthur’s eyes, and hopes he can’t see all of the emotion swirling around in his head, “What?”

“I asked if you were alright. You went off to dreamland again, and then looked like you just remembered that you forgot to take one of Gaius’s pots off the fire.”

“I’m fairly certain I remembered to take all the pots off the flames.”

“Fairly certain?” Arthur teases, eyebrow raised.

“Oh shut up.” Merlin snaps and takes a sip of wine to hide his burning cheeks.

Arthur grins, a soft little chuckle escaping him, “Go on then. What were you thinking about?”

“It won’t be long until I have to leave. Less than a year.”

“I suppose you’re looking forward to it?”

Merlin shakes his head, “I thought I would be. I thought I would be relieved to get out of here and go home, but I like it here. I’m going to miss Gwen, Gwaine, and Lancelot. I think I might miss Morgana, I might even miss you.”

“God help me,” Arthur says in that tone of voice he gets when he’s about to do something he really doesn’t want to, “I think I might miss you as well.”

“Really?” Merlin asks, a bit surprised.

“You threw the entire castle into chaos, but I think we might be better for it, and I like these dinners. I don’t have to be a king around you.”

“There are times I wish I could stay.”

Arthur’s face goes very serious, and he rests his hand on Merlin’s, “As long as I am king, you will always have a place in Camelot.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Sire, I have unfortunate news from the south.” Lord Carlson announces, getting to his feet. His face is grim and lined with worry. He’s older than Arthur, but younger than many of the other lords on the council, but right now he looks older than any of them. 

Arthur grits his teeth, preparing himself for the problem about to be presented, Lord Carlson has never been one to exaggerate one way or the other, and he’s actually one of the few councilors that Merlin trusts. If he’s coming forward, then it really must be bad.

“Continue.” Arthur commands, sitting as tall as he can. 

Lord Carlson sighs and slides a report down the table to Arthur, “A section of the fields Camelot relies on has flooded just before harvest. We won’t be able to harvest the crops in time to keep them from spoiling.”

The reaction is instantaneous. Lords gasp or begin whispering in worried tones to their neighbors. Even Arthur isn’t able to suppress a wince. Lord Carlson’s lands feed nearly a third of Camelot just on their own. Even with only one or two of his fields flooded, it puts Camelot on the brink of famine. Arthur’s been working to establish a better network to bring in crops from former Essetir, but that’s still another year out and won’t do them any good now. It’s already fall.

“What do you suggest we do?” Arthur asks, hoping for a solid suggestion he can run with.

Lord Carlson waves helplessly at the collection of papers in front of Arthur, “I don’t know what we can do, Sire.”

“The answer is obvious.” Lord Unwin pipes in, “We must start rationing what supplies we do have.”

“We can’t ration until we know how much we have!” Lord Ashworth interjects, “The kingdoms with that contribute the most should receive the most rations in return.”

“Hardly.” Lord Unwin scoffs, “The kingdoms that need it the most should receive the most.”

“I’m afraid I agree with Lord Ashworth.” Lord Lionel says, oozing so much smarm Arthur expects him to choke on it, “Why should the kingdoms who contribute to the effort suffer?”

“You’re speaking as though I intentionally flooded my field!” Lord Carlson says indignantly.

Lord Lionel turns his oily smile on Lord Carlson then, “Of course it wasn’t intentional, but we all know that you dabbled with sorcery to attempt to give your fields a… let’s call it a boost.”

Lord Carlson gapes, mouth flapping like a fish, “That’s hardly… magic is no longer outlawed in our kingdom by order of the king. There is nothing morally wrong with trying a new technique to help feed the people.”

“Perhaps not, but you should have thought of this as a potential consequence. After all, that kind of magic is untested.”

“How dare you blame me for something that I could never have foreseen!”

“Gentlemen!” Arthur says sharply, cutting off the impending argument before it can develop the momentum of the runaway cart, “Arguing about fault is getting us nowhere. Lord Ashworth’s suggestion of rationing is a solid one, but we still have to work out distribution.”

“I refuse to sign any official ration statement until we agree that the contributing kingdoms get to keep a larger portion of their crops.” Lord Ashworth says.

Arthur stares at him. Lord Ashworth looks for all the world like a petulant child, refusing to participate unless he gets his own way. It is no wonder that Merlin is always tense and angry after these meetings. Arthur had assumed it was largely due to the fact that Merlin wasn’t used to how things ran, and was frustrated by the more conservative council members. Arthur can see clearly now. People’s lives are hanging in the balance, and the councilors are arguing over who gets what instead of prioritizing the people on the land that Arthur graciously allows them to keep. It’s infuriating.

“You don’t get to play with people’s lives!” Lord Unwin says, echoing Arthur’s thoughts.

“You’re just angry because you know you won’t get as many crops as the contributors.” Lord Ashworth sneers.

Arthur has to admit that Ashworth has a point. Lord Unwin’s land sits in the mountain pass between Former Essetir and Camelot. It was once a defensive position, his men would be on the front line if Essetir ever attacked. At some point, shortly after Arthur started the campaign in Essetir, Lord Unwin’s duty to his people fell by the wayside. He became more interested in his cadre of mistresses, and it’s only gotten worse since the campaign proved successful. He’s scrambling now because he knows he won’t be able to hold onto his power if his people perish. His concern is entirely self-interested, but Arthur isn’t above using it to get his own agenda across.

“It’s true can’t judge how to ration until we get reports from other kingdoms.” Arthur repeats, “However, even we know that if there’s a delay in delivering crops to be counted then they can rot in their carts. We can’t rely on the numbers until it’s all been delivered here and counted. We need a plan in the meantime. I agree with Lord Unwin’s assessment that we should distribute to kingdoms who need it most.”

“But how do we calculate that, sire?” Lord Lionel asks. 

Arthur pictures his fist slamming into Lord Lionel’s face, and feels a little better, “An estimate based on population and contribution perhaps.”

“I must object!” Lord Ashworth shouts.

“Must you?” Arthur asks dryly.

That seems to send Ashworth for a loop, He stumbles over his speech, eyes wide. Then he draws himself to his full height and gets a determined gleam in his beady eyes. “I must. This is a matter of fairness and the good of the many. Why should more people be put at risk by feeding a non-contributing estate?”

“Believe it or not, Lord Ashworth, I care about all of my citizens. Not something you would have had to contend with in my father’s day, I’m sure. My goal here is to leave the fewest people at risk of starvation as possible.”

“With all due respect, my lord, but your father new how to deal with this sort of thing well. I am only following his protocol, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

The implication is obvious. Arthur isn’t as good a king as Uther. Uther was strong and smart. Arthur is weak and naïve. This isn’t the first time someone has tried the implication before, but it is the first time since Merlin came into his life and made him believe he could be a good king. Before it would’ve struck a blow and he might have conceded with a few conditions. Now it sets his teeth on edge, and makes him want to scream. 

“I will attribute your words to stress, Lord Ashworth.” Arthur says coolly, but with enough venom that everyone can hear the dark promise there, “I think perhaps it best we all take a break. We shall reconvene at first light, hopefully with a better attitude.”

When did he have to start playing nursemaid to these men? They’re older than him. They’re the ones who are meant to be pragmatic. They are the ones who are meant to cool _his_ temper, not the other way around. Surely they weren’t this petty under Uther. He never would have stood for it. Arthur was willing to get rid of most of them long ago, but this has really brought the need forward.

“Of course. My apologies, My Lord.” Lord Ashworth says with a respectful bow.

Arthur sighs and turns to Lord Carlson, “You are not in any trouble for what happened. You had honorable intentions, and you cannot be held responsible for it. Next time, I would prefer you consult with Lady Morgana about what spell you intend to use. She knows a great deal more about magic and the price it requires than any of the rest of us.”

“Yes, Sire.” Carlson agrees, looking chastised.

“You’re all dismissed. We return to discussions a first light.”

With that the councilors get to their feet. The chairs scrape against the stone as they stand, and there’s the rustling of fine fabric as everyone shuffles out. Many of their lords have their heads bent together, deep in discussion, their whispers echoing unintelligibly in the great hall. Arthur watches them all go, feeling drained. By tomorrow, half the lords are going to have come to some sort of alliance, and Arthur is going to be strong armed into going along with it. 

He sits in his uncomfortable chair for a while after that, staring into the middle distance. His hands are clasped in front of his mouth, and he can feel the cool press of his mother’s ring against his lips. He’s at a loss. He truly doesn’t know what to do, or how to bring the councilors into agreement. Everything had been going so well lately. His treaty with Lot held, and as a result the other kingdoms he was on the verge of war with after the campaign in Essetir have sought peace as well. This is the first time in living memory that Mercia, Caerleon, and Camelot have all been at peace with each other at the same time. Of course something had to muck it all up.

Arthur sighs and stands as well, though he’s careful not to let the stone get scratched. He and Morgana were raised from children to rise with respect for the castle. Now, Arthur does it out of respect for the poor servant who has to buff the scrapes out of the flagstone, and for the servant who has to re-felt the bottom of the chair legs to try to keep the lords from leaving scratches too deep to be buffed out. 

The hallways are empty as he meanders his way from the great hall to his chambers. The torchlight flickers in the darkness, and an occasional bright patch of moonlight splashes across the floor. Arthur notices none of it, too lost in thought. He rouses just long enough to give a weary nod to the guards standing at the end of the corridor to his chambers, then pushes open the double doors. 

He expects the room to be empty. Instead he finds Merlin sprawled untidily in a chair at the dining table. He sits up when he sees Arthur, and smiles that wide eye-crinkling smile. For all that Arthur wanted to be alone with his thoughts, he has to admit it’s good to have Merlin here. There’s something about Merlin’s presence that keeps the world from weighing so heavily on his shoulders.

He tosses his coat across the back of one of the chairs and smiles at Merlin return, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Merlin tilts his head, a slight confused wrinkle appearing between his brows, “We’ve met for the same dinner every week since I arrived in Camelot nearly three years ago.”

Arthur stands frozen to the spot, and blinks at the wall opposite, “Is today that day?”

“Alright. Sit down. You look like hell.” Merlin says, hopping to his feet and steering Arthur to a chair.

Arthur goes without complaint, but still spares the energy to say, “Thank you, Merlin” in as sarcastic a voice as he can manage.

Merlin pushes some bread and cheese across the table to him, then sits in his own chair, eyeing Arhtur suspiciously, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I can tell when you’re lying. Gwen said something about an emergency council meeting. What happened, Arthur?”

Arthur takes a bite of cheese, suddenly starving. Merlin lets him stall, but doesn’t stop staring at him with those blue knowing eyes. It feels strange having someone know him like this, but a release as well. Having someone there, not letting him get away with closing himself off without making him feel worse for trying like Morgana does, it’s nice.

“A section of fields in Lord Carlson’s land flooded.”

“But he provides a third of all crops.”

“Precisely.”

“That explains the general look of despair then.” Merlin says grimly, “What’s the plan?”

“We don’t have one.” Arthur admits, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Merlin stares at him as though he’s expecting a follow up, then says, “You have got to be joking.”

“Afraid not.” Arthur crams another pieces of cheese into his mouth, “The lords were too busy arguing over petty squabbles to try to come up with a rationing plan.”

“Right.” Merlin says tightly and hops up from the table. He crosses the room to Arthur’s desk, unlocks the secret drawer where he keeps reports, and takes out the stack of parchment hidden inside. He collapses into Arthur’s chair without looking up from the reports, and starts scanning each document, discarding any that aren’t useful to him.

Arthur watches this all with mild fascination. When did Merlin become so comfortable in this space?

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks when it becomes clear Merlin has no intention of standing up any time soon.

“Helping you come up with a plan before the council can do something stupid to it.”

“Are you sure you’re the right person for the job?”

Merlin looks up from the reports in front of him, and sends Arthur an unimpressed glare, “I’m a farm boy, Arthur. I know how crops work better than any lord.”

“Fair enough.”

*

Merlin holds his parchment up triumphantly, nearly smudging the ink. His wrists and fingers are spattered with ink stains as well, and his hair sticks up in all directions from all the times he ran his hands through it over the course of the night. It’s the most beautiful sight Arthur has ever had the fortune to take in, red-rimmed eyes and all.

“We did it!” Merlin exclaims.

Arthur hides his grin as best he can, “Put that down, Merlin. You look ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as you do.” Merlin says pointedly, “You have ink all down your front.”

“And whose fault was that?” Arthur asks dryly.

“Yours because you’re a cabbage head.”

“Did you know your insults are even worse when you don’t get enough sleep?”

Merlin just grins at him. He spreads the parchment flat on the table top to dry properly, then crosses to Arthur’s wardrobe and tosses him a clean tunic. Arthur changes without even considering flexing his role as king to avoid having tunics thrown at his head. He’s too tired for banter after staying up all night to get this done. When he finally emerges from his tunic, he catches sight of Merlin’s eyes darting away from his torso as though caught doing something wrong. He’s too tired to dissect what that might mean either.

“I think you should let me present this to the council.” Merlin says as he passes Arthur his comb.

Arthur runs it through his hair, trying to get it in some semblance of order. “Merlin. While I appreciate that you worked just as hard on this as me, I have to be the one to present. I will give you credit, but they won’t take it coming from you.”

“I know.” Merlin agrees as he tries to set his own appearance to rights, “That’s why I have to present it. From you they’ll just hide their dislike behind carefully veiled insults and work to undermine it. If it comes from me, they’ll be blatantly disrespectful, and it makes you look decisive and strong when you agree with me.”

“You are a mystery Merlin. Not even a full three years at court and you’re nearly as skilled at it as I am.”

Merlin shrugs and gives up the ink stained cuff of his shirt up as a lost cause. “I was already scheming and hiding before I was even old enough to register what I was doing. The magic made me a target and I learned how to play the fool. This is just the adult version of this.”

“I’m sorry my father’s policies put you through that.” Arthur says honestly. Merlin has opened up more since he admitted to the older boys trying to drown him. There was the tale of the defeat of Kanen, Merlin’s first kill. There were the numerous times Old Man Simmons threatened to turn Merlin over to Cenred, drafting Merlin into his army before he was even old enough to marry. Cenred may not have made sorcery illegal, but only because he saw it as an advantage over Uther. He saw them as weapons and nothing more, and Merlin almost became one because of one old man and the struggle between two kings. 

“You changed the policies, Arthur. You and Morgana work every day to make sure people like me are welcomed. Don’t forget that.”

The first rays of sunshine filter in through Arthur’s window, and he stands from his desk. His whole body feels heavy, like his blood has been replaced with lead weights. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

“After you.” Merlin says with a tired smile.

By the time they reach the great hall, almost all the lords are there. They glare at Merlin suspiciously, but he just smiles guilelessly back at them as if completely unaffected by the irritation. Merlin’s ability to let things roll of him like water off a duck’s back is impressive. When the last councilor arrives, everyone takes their seat, still eyeing Merlin with varying degrees of confusion and hostility. Over the years Merlin has gained a reputation for being a radical upstart intent on destabilizing Camelot, and it’s become a source of amusement for all of Merlin’s friends.

“Right. I’ve come up with a plan.” Merlin says brightly, “Arthur, the knights, and I are all going to travel to Lord Carlson’s lands. We’re going to help him harvest any crops that can still be rescued from the flood as they need the extra hands.”

“I must object!” Lord Ashworth says instantly.

Merlin rolls his eyes, actually visibly rolls his eyes, and sends a withering look Lord Ashworth’s way, “Why am I not surprised it’s you protesting, Lord Children-Will-Die?”

“Excuse me?” Ashworth hisses at the same time Arthur hisses a warning “Merlin”.

Merlin stands tall, suddenly exuding confidence in waves, and raises his eyebrows, “You, Lord Ear-Hair, and Pompous Ass have all been trying to force my hand since I arrived. Even if the plan was a solid one, you opposed it simply because I was involved. Now you’re willing to lose valuable crops because I’m the one presenting the solution, so I am showing you the same respect you’ve shown me.”

Everyone, Arthur included, sit in stunned silence. Arthur has no idea where this side of Merlin came from, where he’s been hiding it, but it’s a bit intimidating. According to Morgana, Merlin might be one of the most powerful sorcerers to ever exist, and Arthur never really believed it. Sitting here, now, with Merlin flaying the council with his words as though nothing can touch him, it’s easy to believe.

“But… civility…” Lord Unwin gasps faintly.

Merlin turns that unshakeable gaze on Lord Unwin then, “Are we really going to talk civility when you tried to disparage my birth when we all know you have so many illegitimate children by your mistresses that you could fill Camelot’s army singlehanded?”

Lord Unwin has nothing to say to that. 

“Right.” Merlin says, “Now that we’ve established that, we can get to work. Geoffrey, I would appreciate if you drafted an announcement of upcoming rationing. The sooner people know that it’s coming, the sooner they can start storing what they do have.”

“Of course, Lord Merlin.”

“We’re going to distribute by need. The factors being considered are the number of people living on the land, the access they have to their own crops, and how many children are living there. Can we all agree that’s fair?”

All the lords nod numbly.

“Great. Any additions you would like to discuss, Sire?” Merlin asks, addressing Arthur for the first time since he started speaking.

Arthur has to bite his cheek briefly to keep himself from bursting with laughter. Merlin has well and truly lost his mind, and it is a sight to behold.

“As the two of us came up with this plan together, I am more than satisfied with the conclusion we came to.” Arthur says, and the council all swivels to look at him, clearly betrayed that their king would work with someone so clearly below them.

“Great. Shall I let the selected knights know that we are to depart this afternoon?”

“Start with Gwaine. I believe he was out late at the tavern last night.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“You’re all dismissed. Lord Carlson, you will ride with us as well.”

Lord Carlson smooths out the wrinkles in his jacket, and nods, “Of course, My Lord. I will pack and be ready to leave.”

The exit is much quieter than the one form the night before. Everyone is still in shock over Merlin’s abrupt foray into total disregard of all court standards. It’s a tactic that will only work once, but Arthur is glad that Merlin chose this time to use it. Famine is no laughing matter.

“Are you completely mad?” Arthur asks, grin breaking out over his face.

Merlin chuckles and scratches his jaw in his usual nervous tick, “I may have realized on the way over here that I’ll only have one more council meeting to attend after today. They can’t touch me now that I’m on my way out.”

Arthur ignores his heart clenching at the thought of Merlin leaving. “I always thought you were stupid, but not that stupid.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Lord Children-Will-Die?”

“That was an accident, but I decided to roll with it.” Merlin admits, grinning breaking across his face as well.

Arthur shakes his head fondly. “Come on, Idiot, we have to ride out in a few hours and I’d like some rest.”

*

The sunbakes heavily overhead, and sweat drips down Arthur’s back despite the cool breeze blowing across the field. He aches all over, muscles not used to being hunched over for long periods. He straightens, dragging the back of his hand over his brow to wipe away the sweat. Down the row from him, Percival isn’t fairing much better. Merlin is doing the best out of all of them; sleeves rolled up, scarf discarded, a smear of dirt high on his cheek. The digging and pulling come as naturally to him as breathing, and his stamina in this is better than any of the knights’. 

Even from this distance, Arthur can see the layer of dried mud on Merlin’s trousers. He will never comprehend how Merlin did it, but when they’d arrived a week ago, Merlin took one look at the flooded fields, and waded in. He’d forced the water to disperse entirely within a few minutes, and had worked in some fertility magic into the land, claiming he’d done the same for Ealdor. It was the largest use of magic Arthur had ever seen, and even now he is a little awestruck by it.

A bead of sweat rolls down Merlin’s neck, and Merlin straightens long enough to swipe at it. He leaves a dirty streak in its wake. He catches Arthur watching and grins mischievously before glancing pointedly at the way Arthur’s tunic sticks to his sweaty torso. As always, Merlin is hard to read. This could be taken as either filtration or rudeness. Knowing Merlin, it might be both.

Arthur still hasn’t figured out a way to ask him to stay. 

“That’s the last of it!” Merlin calls sometime later, and is met with a collective groan of relief from the knights.

They stagger out of the field pushing barrels of crops. All told they were only able to salvage a third of the crops from the flood, but Arthur considers this excursion worth it. Even a third is more than they had before. It will make rationing a bit easier all told.

The last rays of sunshine are used to thoroughly soak themselves in the nearby creek. It might be a trick of the light, but Arthur swears the water turns grey around them from the amount of dirt and sweat. He tries not to think too hard about it, he also tries not to think too hard about the long pale lines of Merlin’s skin right next to him in the creek.

After a dinner of thin broth, Arthur is more than ready to collapse in bed. The cot groans under his weight, but he knows better than to complain about the accommodations. He’s lucky that he’s not on the floor like Leon, or with Gwaine like Elyan. Merlin slides in next to him after a few moments, sighing loudly.

“I forgot how tiring farming actually is.” He says into the dark.

Arthur smiles, and nudges Merlin’s shin with his foot, “Gone soft during your time with me?”

“Just got used to different chores, Clotpole.” 

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

“Ass.” Merlin grumbles and digs his boney fingers into the ticklish spot on Arthur’s ribs.

A brief tussle ensues in which Merlin ends up with both hands pinned to Arthur’s chest. Arthur’s heart races and he hopes Merlin can’t feel it. The last thing he wants is for Merlin to feel obligated to stay because Arthur…

“You know, despite the way this came about,” Arthur says, trying to distract himself, “we ended up working well together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write this in honor of Merlin's season 5 muscles? Did I write this as an excuse to let Arthur ogle a sweaty Merlin? Well.... that's for the courts to prove.  
> Enjoying this fic? Come [visit me on Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thenerdyindividual)


	17. Chapter 17

“I can’t believe you go home at the end of the month.” Arthur says and Merlin has to grit his teeth at the ache that brings in his chest.

He’s never wanted to go back to Ealdor less than he does now. With every passing day he realizes just how much he enjoys Camelot, Arthur is a big part of that, but it’s also the way he fits in like he was born here. It’s the way he never sees suspicious glances in his direction, even with his magic out in the open. He has friends who care about him, and who he cares about in return, and, yes, Arthur. 

This thing with Arthur is confusing. There are moments, especially since the week they shared the bed while they pulled crops, where he is convinced Arthur looks the same. He doesn’t touch anyone else as much as he touches Merlin, always reaching out to ruffle his hair or slap him playfully. It’s the gaze and soft smile Arthur gives him when he thinks Merlin has done something brilliant, and the way he tilts his head back in laughter whenever Merlin insults him. Merlin just can’t figure out why neither of them say anything. Well, he knows why he doesn’t say anything, because even if Arthur feels the same way, they can never be. Arthur would have to fight his council tooth and nail, and Merlin doesn’t want to make Arthur’s life any harder by putting what is between them into words. 

There are days, like now, where Merlin fears it will come spilling out of him anyway. That he’ll look at Arthur as he is now, without armor or crown, glowing in the combined moonlight and firelight in his chambers, and be simply unable to keep it to himself. He’s under no delusions about Arthur being a king from a child’s story. Arthur can be difficult, set in his ways, and too eager to compromise with council to try to get their scraps of support. Arthur is also noble, caring, and he tries to do the right thing. The good outweighs the bad, and it make Merlin want to be there for all the moments where Arthur grows more confident in himself and his decisions. He’d like nothing more than to spend the rest of his life here in Camelot, by the side of the man who he now considers his best friend.

“Seems like just yesterday I was driving Leon to drink.” Merlin jokes, burying all his feelings about his departure deep inside himself where they, hopefully, can’t get out. 

Arthur chuckles, “I have never met someone who could drive so many nobles mad. They still haven’t recovered from the nicknames you gave them.”

“Just be glad I didn’t get to Ear-Hair.”

“Lord Covington.” Arthur says with a grimace, “I swear he wasn’t nearly so hairy when I was child.”

Merlin grins and leans back in his chair, “Are you going to miss me?”

He says it teasingly, but he genuinely wants to know. He’s torn between what answer he wants. On one hand, he wants Arthur to miss him, wants some sort of acknowledgement of the friendship they’ve built between them over the years, if not the looks between them. On the other, he doesn’t want Arthur to experience any pain, doesn’t want Arthur torn up by this the way Merlin will inevitably be.

“No.” Arthur blusters, “I can’t wait to go back to the way things were before.”

“You’re such a liar.” Merlin says with narrowed eyes, “Admit it, you’ll miss me.”

Arthur heaves a put upon sigh and glances away from Merlin briefly before looking back, “Alright. I will miss you. You might be the only true friend I have here, and I don’t relish losing that.”

“What happened to me always having a place in Camelot as long as you were king?” 

“You are welcome to visit whenever you like, but it won’t be the same. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Merlin agrees, “I do.”

It won’t be the same as running into Arthur every day. It won’t be the same as popping down to the tavern with Gwaine at a moment’s notice, or carrying potions for Gaius, or practicing magic with Morgana. It won’t be the same as gossiping with Gwen while he helps with her chores, or coming up with elaborate plots with her to get Lancelot to propose. Even when he comes back to visit, he’ll miss things. Children he sees every day in the lower town will get taller, older. There will be new in-jokes with the servants that he is no longer a part of. He’ll go back to Ealdor, where only Mary’s father has ever crossed their borders. He’ll go back to suspicious looks and hiding how special he is in order to make small minded people comfortable. He’ll go back to people who have known him forever and refuse to see the man he’s become. There won’t be Arthur to call him an idiot in that fond tone of voice that shows it’s more nickname than insult. There won’t be any traces of the life he found here, where he could thrive. It will be all gone.

“You seem upset.” Arthur says cautiously, never good with emotions no matter how hard he tries.

Merlin shrugs, “You’ve become my best friend. I’m not exactly looking forward to leaving you or anyone else behind to go back to my old life.”

“You will come to visit, won’t you?”

“Yeah, but like you said, won’t be the same.”

They fall into silence. Merlin gazes at the whole of Arthur’s chambers, trying to commit it to memory. The Pendragon-Red cover on the bed, worn in one place from where Arthur likes to tuck it under his arm while he’s sleeping. The changing screen that is more elaborate than is Arthur’s typical style, but less ornate than the one Morgana uses. Thee solid wooden desk where Arthur sits, bowed over every report and treaty offer sent his way, sun glowing on his back. Even the dining table they sit at now, enjoying each other’s company. Merlin doesn’t even know his own chambers this well.

“Come with me tomorrow.” He blurts.

Arthur frowns at him, “Go with you where?”

“The tavern.”

“Merlin, I told you, I don’t want the knights have to be on their best behavior when it’s meant to be their night off.” Arthur says, just as Merlin expected him to.

“They won’t. You were a knight before you were their king, and with me going I want to be sure that you can call them friends as well as brothers in arms.”

“This really matters to you?”

“Yes.”

Arthur sighs, rolling his eyes slightly, “Alright. I’ll go.”

Merlin’s heart leaps for joy, and he grins at Arthur, “I’ll see you down there then?”

“Scouts honor. You can even tell Gwen and Morgana I agreed so that they drag me down there regardless of my intentions.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Merlin warns.

“Of course you are. Goodnight, Merlin.”

Understanding the dismissal, Merlin gets to his feet and says, “Goodnight, Arthur.”

He has one month left. He’s going to make as much of his time out of this as possible. 

*

“How on earth did you convince Arthur to come?” Leon asks as he passes Merlin a drink.

“I told him it was important to me that you lot become friends even when I’m not here to make sure he keeps his head out of his ass.” Merlin answers, accepting the mug with only minimal sloshing. 

Leon raises his eyebrows in surprise, and stares at Merlin with his mouth half open in delight, “And that worked?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“We’ve all invited him for years to come. We all knew you were special to him, but this is something I’ve never seen before, not even when we played together as children.”

“We’re friends.” Merlin deflects, not really wanting to get into what Leon might be implying. If it’s dragged out into the open, it’s only going to be all the more painful when he has to go. 

Across the room from him, Gwaine groans as Percival lets out a whoop of joy. The two of them have been locked in a vicious game of dice since Merlin arrived, and apparently Percival must have just made a decisive victory. Arthur is standing at Gwaine’s shoulder, and his head is tilted back as he howls with laughter. This is the most care free Merlin has ever seen him. He finally looks his age, just under thirty and full of life left to live. He handles being king well, but it doesn’t take magic to see the way Arthur sometimes sags with exhaustion when he thinks no one is looking. Merlin hopes that there will be more nights like this for Arthur, where he can just be a young man.

Leon opens his mouth, clearly not ready to let go of this topic just yet. Rather than sit through a well-meaning but horribly awkward lecture, Merlin sets off across the room. He makes it without tripping over any members of the crowd, or spilling his drink, which is a miracle on its own. He comes to a stop next to Percival, and smiles sympathetically at Gwaine, and Gwaine glares at him for the mocking that is totally apparent in Merlin’s gaze. 

“Lose spectacularly?” Merlin asks, and Percival grins.

“Oh like you could do any better.” Gwaine grumbles.

“Care to make a bet?”

“I would, but Percival has taken all my money.”

Merlin’s gaze flicks to Arthur, “What about you, Sire?”

“What _about_ me?” Arthur asks, nose wrinkling with irritation. 

“Do you want to take me up on the challenge, since Gwaine is too broke?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh come on, don’t be a chicken.”

Arthur shakes his head, mouth open on a chuckle, “Fine. Fine. If my reputation as the bravest man in Camelot is on the line.”

Percival and Gwaine shuffle out of the way, and Merlin and Arthur step up to the table. Arthur picks up the cup they were using for the game, and passes it over to Merlin.

“I’ll allow you to go first.”

“Oh how gracious of you.” Merlin says sarcastically.

A smug smirk tugs at Arthur’s mouth, “There’s no shame in a consort losing to his king.”

“Nor a king to his consort.” Merlin points out with his own teasing grin, drawing a laugh from the crowd.

Arthur ducks his head in that way that means he’s trying to hide his laughter when Merlin has done something funny, but inappropriate to his station. It sets Merlin’s heart fluttering, and for a moment he considers letting Arthur win, but only for a moment. What is his job as common consort if not to knock Arthur down a few pegs every now and then? 

He dumps a few coins onto the tray, as does Arthur, and loads the cup with the dice. He calls out his number, shakes the dice around, and whispers a spell under his breath to bless them. They clatter to the table, but come up on his number. Merlin sweeps the meager pile of coins to his side of the table.

“Lucky roll.” Arthur protests, taking the dice cup as Merlin offers.

“Or you’re just not as good at this game as you think you are.”

Arthur rolls, calls out, “Twelve” and rolls. Merlin clears his throat at the same time to cover for his magic. The dice come up four.

Merlin chuckles to himself as the knights all make fun of Arthur. Their oohing over loud in the cramped common room of the Rising Sun. This is the most honest fun Merlin has had in Camelot. He should have listened when Gwaine suggested he use his magic for pranks. It’s hilarious to see Arthur so irritated and baffled.

“You put me off!” Arthur accuses.

Merlin blinks innocently as he pretends to count his stack of coins, “What are you talking about?”

“You just coughed.”

“I was clearing my throat.” Merlin says, and wiggles one finger in front of his throat to prove his point.

“You just coughed, deliberately.” Arthur insists.

Merlin can tell by his face that he is deadly serious, and it takes all his will power not to burst out laughing. That’s another thing to add to the list of Arthur’s flaws. He’s a sore loser. It would irritate Merlin more if it weren’t so hilarious. 

Merlin groans like he’s about to admit to it, because technically Arthur isn’t wrong, and says with all the sarcasm in the world, “I knew you would discover my secret in the end. There is just no fooling you, my lord.”

Merlin takes the cup back as Arthur rolls his eyes at the laughter. He’s taking this in surprisingly good humor, and for that Merlin is grateful. He’s sure the knights are as well. If Arthur can play along while Merlin is making an absolute fool out of him, then Arthur is sure to be welcome to more tavern nights than just this one. 

Just for the hell of it, Merlin starts stacking all of his winnings in the little tray provided for the wager. He sends Arthur a challenging smirk, and flips his last coin into the tray as well. Arthur looks good competitive, that isn’t Merlin’s fault.

“So it’s like that is it?” Arthur asks, rising to meet the challenge.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and nods towards the wager tray. Without breaking eye contact, Arthur sweeps the stacks of coins into one pile, and adds his own remaining coins for the night. He passes the cup to Merlin.

Also maintaining eye contact, Merlin rattles the dice around in the cup, and once more briefly glances down to hide the glow in his eyes when he blesses his dice. He calls twelve, and when he dice stop clattering around on the table, they come up twelve, just as he knew they would. Even though he was expecting the outcome, he’s still as excited as the rest of the crowd, and raises his fists in the air while cheering.

Arthur shifts, irritation clear, but doesn’t say anything to ruin Merlin’s fun. It’s good of him, really, to put up with it. Hell, it was good of him to put up with Merlin from the start. He could’ve been an ass about the whole thing, never taking Merlin seriously, forcing Merlin to perform his duties the way Arthur saw fit. Instead, Arthur let him into his life and into his confidence. Merlin wants a way to return that gesture if he can find it.

For now he settles for buying Arthur a drink.

“Did you really invite me out just to make a fool of me?” Arthur asks dryly as the two of them lean against a table with their drinks to watch the other patrons.

“No. I genuinely wanted you to keep being friends with your knights, the humiliating you was just a side benefit.” Merlin responds, and gasps indignantly as Arthur punches him on the arm.

“I wouldn’t call it humiliating, Merlin.” 

“No? What would you call losing all your pocket money to a country boy, then?”

“Oh shut up.” Arthur grumbles, but Merlin can see the grin hidden behind his mug.

*

Two weeks. Two weeks until he has to go home, and there’s nothing for Arthur to remember him by. Assuming Arthur wants to remember him while he’s gone, that is. Merlin shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of doubt. Arthur asked if he would visit, expected him to even. If that isn’t a clue that Arthur wants to remain friends, at the very least, Merlin will eat his own hat. Or he would his own hat if he actually owned a hat.

He passes Ruth the medicine for son, and she thanks him profusely. He wonders what these people will think when he returns to Ealdor. Somehow, after three years, none of them have put together that he’s the common consort. He would assume that they all know and are just being polite, except he’s heard the stories they’ve crafted about the common consort being a recluse, never seen outside the castle. It makes him curious about their thoughts when he inevitably stops coming. Perhaps they’ll ask Gaius where his assistant has gone.

Merlin turns a corner, and that’s when he spots it, the perfect thing to gift Arthur with. It isn’t as fancy as it should be for a king, but then again, neither is Merlin. He picks it up, turning it gently between his fingertips to get a good look at it under the light. It’s well made, and it won’t fall apart a few days after Merlin leaves. It’s perfect.

He flags down the stall owner, and hands over the money without question. Haggling is generally part of the process, but Merlin would have paid anything for it. Besides, he’s buying it with the money he made off Arthur that night at the Rising Sun. It won’t put that much of a dent in the money he’s bringing home to Ealdor.

He locks himself in his chambers, and spends the next several hours murmuring every protection charm he can find over the object he purchased.

*

One week to go. Only one week left, but already Merlin has to say goodbye to some of the people he’s grown to love. Lancelot and Gwaine are due on patrol, and it will be at least two weeks before they get back. Merlin will be long gone by then.

Then sun shines hot on the stone of the courtyard, making Merlin sweat under his jacket. Gwaine hands his reins off to a squire, and walks the few feet to Merlin. They stare at each other for a moment, then Gwaine pulls him into a hug, slapping him on the back as he does.

“Call me sappy, but I’m going to miss you.” Gwaine says gruffly as he pulls away.

Merlin blinks back the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and pastes a smile on his face. He doesn’t want his last moments with Gwaine to be sad. Gwaine was his first friend in Camelot, and Merlin is going to miss him horribly. He doesn’t want his last memory to be the two of them in ears unless it’s tears of laughter.

“Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m not around, alright?” he jokes.

Gwaine forces himself to smile as well, “No promises.”

His goodbye to Lancelot is next. They don’t hug because they were never quite as close as he and Gwaine were, but they were still friends. Lancelot stares at him with serious eyes, and squeezes his shoulder with a serious almost sad smile.

“Camelot won’t fair as well without you.”

“Don’t make Gwen wait too long. She’d wait forever for you if she had to, but don’t make her.”

Lancelot nods, “You have my word.”

He and Gwaine mount their horses, and ride out. Gwaine glances over his shoulder one last time as he goes, and Merlin lifts a hand in farewell. Then they turn a corner and are lost from sight, and it hits Merlin that he doesn’t know when he will ever see those two again.

That’s where Arthur finds him several hours later; still rooted to the spot, gazing in the direction they rode like he can still make out their trail. He doesn’t mention them, or the obvious puffiness to merlin’s eyes. He just hitches a smile onto his face for Merlin’s sake and asks, “Hungry?”

“I could eat.” Merlin responds, voice rougher than he was expecting.

“Me too. Come on. We’ll pick up something from the kitchen and you can keep trying to teach me that game you and Will invented.”

*

He says goodbye to Morgana and Gwen with three days left to go. He holds Gwen close and tries not to cry as she blatantly soaks his shirt. She was the second friend he made in Camelot, and in some ways they were closer than him and Gwaine. They shared days at a time together while doing chores, and they got to know each other well.

“I’ll write.” He promises.

Gwen nods, and swipes at the tears gathered on her cheeks, “You better, or else I’ll come to Ealdor myself.”

He shakes hands with Morgana, but she doesn’t say much. They didn’t close until the latter half of his time in Camelot, but both of their magic had improved by leaps and bounds once they started working together. They’re both going to miss having someone to work with, and it’s clear that Morgana is frustrated that she can’t see Merlin off, but peace with the druids is more important. It isn’t her fault that she has to go, and it isn’t her fault that Gwen has to come with her to help her with the ridiculous court gowns. Merlin understands that.

He spends that night in Arthur’s chambers. He kept meaning to get up and return to his own, but after saying goodbye to so many of his friends, he can’t bring himself to. Saying goodbye to Arthur is going to be the most painful of all of them. He just wants as many moments with Arthur as he can get. Even if it means that Arthur complains, jokingly, about Merlin’s morning cheerfulness.

*

He has to say goodbye to Gaius two days before. An illness in a nearby village taking Gaius away from the citadel for the first time in years. This time he isn’t just saying goodbye to a friend, but to his family. Gaius was he first adult to teach him not to be afraid of his magic. He was the person Merlin turned to on the few occasions he needed advice while in Camelot. 

He does cry this time.

He spends another night with Arthur.

*

His goodbye to Leon the day before is a bit awkward. There’s a bond between them, even if they didn’t grow close. Leon is the whole reason he’s in Camelot to begin with. He’s the reason Merlin suddenly has to say so many painful goodbyes now that he has to return home. 

“Sorry.” is all Leon says. Merlin doesn’t want to think about what that might mean.

*

He wipes sweaty hands on his trousers and knocks on the doors to Arthur’s room. He rides out at first light, his bag is packed, and he’s finally learned how to knock. He wonders if Arthur will notice.

“Come in!” Arthur calls, and Merlin goes inside. Arthur grins when he sees him, and says, “Merlin! I was just wondering if I’d be seeing you tonight.”

“I wouldn’t miss our last dinner.” 

“I thought you might be down at the Rising Sun saying goodbye to everyone.” Arthur admits as he sits in front of the fire.

Merlin joins him, gift heavy in the pocket of his jacket, “You’re the last person I had to say goodbye to. Everyone else has been called away on duties.”

“Well I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah.” Merlin says with a little smile, “I’m glad I’m here too.”

“Has Geoffrey set you up with your stipend?” Arthur asks, passing Merlin a goblet.

Merlin nods, “Set it up last week just to be sure.”

“Good.”

For the first time, the silence between them is awkward; heavy with sentiments unshared. It’s a risk, but Merlin has to take it. His heart is Arthur’s as sure as the sun rises every morning. 

“I have something for you.” Merlin says, fumbling his gift out of his pocket, “It isn’t much, but I wanted to give you something to remember me by.”

“Merlin, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Arthur insists, laying a gentle hand over Merlin’s.

“I know, but really, you bought it yourself.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I may have felt a little bad about taking all your money at the Sun.”

“You won it fair and square.”

Merlin huffs a laugh, and grimaces self-deprecatingly, “About that…”

“I knew you cheated!” Arthur shouts, “You lying cheat!”

“You played dice with a powerful sorcerer, Arthur. What did you think was going to happen?” Merlin asks, smile steadily turning into a grin.

“I don’t know, Merlin,” Arthur says sarcastically, “I thought my friend wouldn’t take advantage of me.”

Merlin frowns at him disbelievingly, “After all the times I went to the tavern with Gwaine, you really thought I wouldn’t try to prank you? Besides, I bought you a gift so stop being a dollop head about it.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but accepts the gift Merlin passes to him. It’s wrapped in his oldest neckerchief, one with so many holes it really should have headed to a scrap bucket by now. He’s gratified to see Arthur untie it like it’s the finest fabric in Camelot. 

“Merlin… I…” Arthur murmurs. On his palm sits a little wooden falcon about the size of his thumb. A merlin. 

“I just thought… you know… it might be like having me around.” Merlin says awkwardly, “I poured enough protection charms into it that nothing short of a dragon’s breath should be able to harm you while you’re holding it. I’m going to miss you, Arthur, more than you know, and I… if my feelings aren’t returned the way I think they are then you can just throw it away as soon as I leave. I’m sure Morgana can make you another.”

“Merlin.” Arthur says, gazing at him seriously, “Thank you. I will treasure it always.”

Merlin leaves the next morning just after dawn. Arthur isn't there to see him go, but when he glances over his shoulder for one last look at the castle, he notices a shadow at Arthur's window.


	18. Chapter 18

Arthur glances up from the document he’s reading over, prepared to ask Merlin his opinion just as he has every Thursday night for the last three years. The words are on the tip of his tongue when he realizes Merlin isn’t here. He’s been gone a week, and Arthur still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that he isn’t just home for a quick visit to Ealdor, he’s gone for good. There are no more late nights spent pouring over documents, or getting distracted from policy to share stories about their lives before they fell into each other’s pockets. Arthur is once again alone. Sure, he’s closer with his knights than he was before Merlin came, but none of them are quite as easy to talk to as Merlin was. 

Merlin’s lack of formality worked in his favor. It made him easy to relate to, made him appear open and honest even when he was hiding his magic from everyone. Arthur has long since moved past his anger on that count, but now it has given way for worry. Only a few people seemed pleased to have Merlin back in Ealdor when they fought against Ulfric, and it worries him that Merlin is back with those people now. Ealdor may have been the place that raised him, but Camelot seemed like more of a home to him than Ealdor ever did. He even admitted that he wished he could stay. 

More than ever Arthur wishes he had just been brave enough to ask him to stay. He could’ve made Merlin Gaius’s apprentice if the council objected to Merlin staying on as common consort, he’s seen Merlin perform enough care to the knights on patrol to know that he would have thrived as Gaius’s official apprentice. Perhaps they could have kept their weekly dinners that way as well, after all surely a physician hears the most complaints out of anyone except the barman. 

Arthur sighs and goes back to trying to focus on the document. Just because he misses Merlin doesn’t mean he can shirk his kingly responsibility. The words tumble across the page in tiny, almost illegible, script. He has to squint to try to read it, and it’s starting to give him a headache. He flips to the end of the report to see who it was submitted by (because god forbid they list their kingdom and name at the top of the form), and huffs a little laugh to himself. Ear-Hair. Of course it was submitted by Ear-Hair. He’s nearly as bad as Pompous Ass. 

When did he start calling his lords by the nicknames that Merlin gave them?

He shoves the report aside, concentration thoroughly shot for the night. He’s been reading the same document since George came in to prepare him for bed and that was ages ago, long enough that the candles have all stated to burn low. There’s no point in straining his eyes if no work is being done.

He stands from is desk, groaning as his back cracks. He’s been hunched over at his desk since the afternoon, and he’s paying for it now. He’ll have to attend training tomorrow in order to loosen back up. Strangely, that thought isn’t as comforting as it usually is. He’s loved training ever since he was old enough to train. He never missed it growing up. Once he came down with a case of sweating sickness and still tried to get out of bed. For some reason, it just doesn’t bring him the same excitement as it did even two weeks ago (the last time he had a chance to train).

He blows out a candle and slips into bed. The sheets and blankets are as soft as ever, but the room is too quiet. He got used to the occasions in which Merlin would stay too late and inevitably wind up falling asleep in a chair in front of the fire. His last week here, he spent more time in Arthur’s chambers than he did his own. Arthur isn’t sure how he got used to it so quickly, but he did. He misses it terribly. He misses the easy companionship it brought, the sense that he wasn’t trying to shoulder the kingdom alone. Perhaps this is why the council always pushed his father to remarry. Running a kingdom on your own is much harder than running a kingdom with a loyal friend at your side.

He shifts around on his pillows and tugs the blanket up over his shoulders to fight off the chill. It takes him ages to fall asleep after that. No matter how he tosses and turns he can’t quite seem to get comfortable. He finally manages to get some uneasy rest right before the first rays of the sun crests over the horizon. 

George is as proper as ever when he comes to wake Arthur. He serves breakfast in bed, with proper portions. Arthur eats it mechanically, not really that interested in paying attention to what he’s eating. George wouldn’t try to poison him this late in the game anyway, and certainly not with breakfast. The suspicion would land on him right away.

“I have training today.” Arthur announces as he swings out of bed, “Help me with my armor.”

“Of course, Sire.” George says, already heading to the wardrobe to fetch the gambeson, “I will remind you that you have a council meeting this afternoon. They wish to discuss the upcoming Spring Festival.”

Arthur sighs and bites back the scathing retort that wants to break free. He agreed to this festival as consolation after Merlin insulted nearly every lord on the council with rude nicknames such as Old Ginger Beard, and Children Die. Now it seems like a waste. Merlin was right that day almost three years ago, the number of feasts and tourneys they held are ridiculous. Tourneys at least brought some money in for the innkeepers and tavern owners. Foreign knights and men trying to make a name for themselves have a tendency to flood the lower town with their patronage, but the amount they have to pay to set up the tourney grounds properly, arrange prizes, hire judges, increase guards, and anything else that might need doing, doesn’t always equal the boost the lower town gets. It’s ridiculous to hold not one, but two spring events simply because a few lords were offended by someone pointing out the error of their ways. 

“I’ll go straight to council from training.”

“Very good, Sire.”

*

“Get your sword up!” Arthur shouts at Percival, “What the hell is wrong with you today?”

Percival, usually so careful not to show any emotion beyond his usual cheerful demeanor, sends Arthur a wounded look. It makes something in Arthur’s gut twist. He hasn’t acted this badly towards anyone since he was a teenager trying too hard to fill a role that his father set for him. He doesn’t mean to be angry or cruel, he knows that if he isn’t careful he could drive away the very men he needs to support him the most. He just can’t seem to make himself stop. Everything seems to rub him the wrong way, and he finds himself lashing out at people who don’t deserve it.

“I’m just a bit tired is all, Sire.” Percival says stiffly, already straightening to go for another round of sparring with him.

Arthur takes a deep breath and shakes his head, “No. It’s alright Percival. I know you were ill. I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven.” Percival promises, and his face softens back to its usual agreeable expression.

“Why don’t you take a break? Get some water?” Arthur suggests, trying to mend the bridge.

Percival smiles gratefully and heads for the table where they keep the water. One of the squires is sitting on the bench, looking eager and excited to be included in the training. There’s something off about the sight, but Arthur can’t put his finger on it. Percival is perfectly kind to the squire, and the squire is perfectly respectful too. There’s just something missing.

Lancelot wanders over to him, face a mask of concern. Arthur doesn’t remember him looking like that the first time he showed up in Camelot, and he wonders if he picked up that look from Guinevere. It seems like a face she would make when she thought Arthur was being a fool. Morgana is usually far less tactful about it. Her version of care tends to be barging into his chambers and demanding he tell her what’s bothering him. 

“Is everything alright, Sire?” Lancelot asks gently.

Arthur musters a smile that he hopes looks natural, “Everything is fine. I just had a rough night is all.”

“We all miss him, you know.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Arthur says stiffly.

Lancelot gives him a look that clearly means he doesn’t buy this story for a second, but doesn’t want to intrude. He nods respectfully, then crosses the field in the opposite direction to return to Gwaine. The two of them return to sparring like they were before, picking up like nothing interrupted them. 

Arthur leaves Leon in charge of training and goes to change for council early.

*

“What’s this about not hosting a tourney?” Morgana asks, joining him in the corridor without warning.

Arthur nearly startles out of his skin, and it’s only years of dealing with Morgana and her love for messing with him that he doesn’t. He rolls his eyes and comes to a stop in the middle of the walkway, hands on hips.

“The festival will proceed as usual, but there won’t be a tourney.” Arthur says calmly, “I fail to see why that requires you to accost me in the hall.”

Morgana narrows her eyes in that way that Arthur has learned means trouble, “I didn’t accost you, you self-important toad. I simply want to know why you’re not hosting a tourney if it’s always been tradition for this festival.”

“We don’t have the money to pay for the proper set up, and I’m not going to run the risk of being accused of favoritism because we put together a slapdash disaster.” Arthur says sharply, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be going.”

He turns on his heel to walk away, but Morgana doesn’t let him. She simply lengthens her stride and catches up with him. Her hand lands on his elbow and holds on, effectively trapping him unless he wants to bowl her over in his escape attempt. He may have spent the last three weeks in a horrible mood, but he hasn’t lost his mind. If he bowls Morgana over, his breakfast will taste of horse dung for the next week at least. 

“What the hell has gotten into you?” she demands, “Ever since Merlin left you’ve been wandering aroun the castle lashing out at people like a wounded bear.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Arthur says stubbornly, and begins the process of trying to yank his arm free of Morgana’s evil clutches.

Morgana digs her fingers in firmer, frowning at him, “Yes, you do. You snapped at Percival, you refused to listen to any of the lords at the last council meeting, and now you’re blowing off the opportunity for a tourney. You’ve never done that.”

“There is nothing wrong, Morgana. I already told you my reasons for not hosting the tourney with the festival. Now, are you going to let go of my arm or are you going to come watch me change clothes for dinner?”

Morgana releases his arm and steps back. The threat of having to see him naked is about the only threat that ever works to get her off his back about things. Ever since they were children, it was Arthur’s go to, and it is comforting to know that the threat still works now. 

“I wish you would talk to me.” She says softly.

Arthur sighs and shakes his head, “There’s nothing to talk about. I apologized to Percival right away, the council is impossible to deal with these days, and we’re still hosting the summer tourney so we don’t need to host a poorly planned spring one. All is fine.”

“I can tell when you’re lying.” Morgana says critically, “Just try not to bottle up whatever it is that’s hurting you. It’s bad for your skin.”

“Right.” Arthur says with a little huff of laughter, “When I break out in a rash, then you can pester me about it. And, _no_ this is not permission to cast that boil spell Merlin taught you before he left.”

Morgana’s eyes winkle mischievously, and she pinches his arm lightly. It doesn’t hurt, and she wasn’t trying to make it hurt. Arthur would know. He was on the receiving end of many of her pinches growing up. He knows how badly she can make them hurt if she wants to.

Morgana drifts off down the corridor after that, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts once more. He continues on his trajectory back to his chambers. He knows very well that over the last three weeks, he’s become nearly impossible to deal with. The council takes the worst of it because they’ve sought to overturn ever piece of legislation that Merlin managed to get passed, so they deserve his ire a least, but his knights have taken some of it too. He’s working them harder than when he was campaigning in Essetir and they needed to be the best of the best to avoid getting run through on the battlefield. He pushes himself harder too. He goes to training every day like he did when he was a prince. Then he goes to council meetings, and stays up late into the night pouring over documents. He isn’t getting near enough sleep and he’s exhausted, but it’s either work himself into tiredness, or toss and turn the entire night. If he could pinpoint why he’s so miserable, then perhaps he could make the necessary change and stop being the Son of Uther.

He pushes the doors to his chambers open, prepared to crack on with documents he left behind this morning, and stops in his tracks. Gwaine is sitting at his dining table, feet kicked up on the end, hands behind his head, the picture of relaxation. He grins when Arthur enters and sits up properly with his feet on the ground. 

“I was wondering when you would get here.” Gwaine says cheerfully.

“What the hell are you doing in my chambers?” Arthur asks, trying to sound outraged, but only sounding confused. Gwaine has never invaded his space like this before, and Arthur can’t fathom why he would do so now.

Gwaine tosses his hair out of his face, and rests his elbows on his knees, “I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had.”

“And it couldn’t wait until the knights meeting tomorrow?” Arthur asks, letting the doors swing shut behind him finally. He takes up the seat opposite of Gwaine.

“I suppose it could, but it’s of a personal matter.”

“You’ve never wanted to discuss personal matters with me before.” 

“Ah, but my personal matters have never involved you before.”

Arthur squints suspiciously, “How does it involve me now?”

“You have been working harder than you ever have before.” Gwaine states the obvious, “Normally I wouldn’t complain, means you’re not a useless royal, but it’s making you miserable, and us by extension.”

“Is there a point to this, or did Morgana just send you to irritate me too?”

“There’s a point.” Gwaine promises, “I want to go visit Merlin in Ealdor, and I think you should come with me.”

“I can’t just run off to go visit an old advisor whenever I want, Gwaine.”

“If you thought of Merlin as just an advisor, then I’ll let Gwen put me in a dress like she’s been threatening.” 

“The point still stands.” Arthur says firmly, “So if you could go, please.”

“No. Listen, Merlin was about the only one who could get your head on straight. He was a friend to us all, especially you. By the time he left he was spending more time running around after you than with me and Gwen combined. I think it will do you some good to go visit him.”

Arthur sinks back in his chair, gazing into the middle distance, He would like to see Merlin. Life in Camelot hasn’t been nearly as bright without him. He brought a certain brightness with him, even when he went cool and a little scary when facing down bandits or councilors. He was someone Arthur could rely on, and he’s missed that over the last three weeks. He’s started to feel like he did when he first became king; lonely, ill prepared.

“It’s only been a month.” He says tiredly.

It’s Gwaine’s turn to look confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Shouldn’t I give him enough time to settle back into his life in Ealdor before I go charging in?”

“Trust me, Merlin is probably as miserable without you as you are without him. You saw how the village treated him after he took down Ulfric. We should go visit.”

Arthur looks up from his clasped hands in order to take in Gwaine’s face. There’s no easing in his eyes like there so often is. He just seems, surprisingly, sincere. He supposes that Gwaine must miss Merlin too, after all they were good friends. If he’s inviting Arthur along, it must be for good reason, even if Arthur can’t see it just yet.

“And you’re absolutely sure that he won’t mind?” Arthur asks, just wanting to confirm. The last thing he wants is to show up where he’s unwelcome.

Gwaine nods at the wooden merlin charm hanging around Arthur’s neck, “That from Merlin?”

“Yes. He said it was a protection charm.”

Gwaine smiles gently, and shakes his head with an amused laugh, “If he gave you that, how can you think he wouldn’t want to see you?”


	19. Chapter 19

Dirt. Merlin forgot how much dirt there was in Ealdor. Yes, there’s plenty of grass too, but overwhelmingly it is dirt. The roads are dirt, the floors of barns are dirt. Even the fields are dirt as they wait for the seeds to grow into crops for the fall. He is surrounded by dirt, and he doesn’t even feel the connection to the earth that he usually does with his magic.

The sensation is still there, but it’s muted. It’s like trying to make out the color of lady’s dress through a dirty window. It’s comparisons like that, that make him even more Other than he was before he left Ealdor. He certainly never stopped working hard while in Camelot, he didn’t want to become soft in his time away, but the work is different. No one has much use for his knowledge on how to clean wine stains out of silk, or how to make a bed with pristine corners. His knowledge of the inner workings of court is also useless. What use is court politics in a village that has only spotted nobles on two occasions?

His magic, used to flying free in Camelot, feels just as listless as him. It got used to training with Morgana, it got used to going on patrol with Arthur and keeping his friends safe. It got used to being, well, used. Here, it’s back to keeping it swept under the rug. It’s back to keeping it an open secret, only useful for helping in difficult animal births, or blessing crops. Otherwise, it is a dark art unfit for public use. Merlin didn’t use it much in public in Camelot either, but the difference was that if he had used it, he wouldn’t have been shied away from either. He saw enough little bits of magic here and there in his three years to know that magic is steadily making its way back to Camelot, and that’s all thanks to Arthur. 

At the thought of Arthur, Merlin nearly chokes on air. He misses everyone in Camelot, but Arthur especially. They were thrown together in the oddest of circumstances, but they made it work. More than that, they made it work well. They were friends, with a hint of potential for something more. Being without him makes Merlin feel like he’s gone a bit mad. When Will does something stupid, his first instinct is to note it in order to tell Arthur about it later, only to remember he can’t. He isn’t foolish enough to think that Arthur has forgotten him, but he does have this sinking suspicion that Arthur will only remember him for so long.

Arthur is a king. He has his people to worry about. He has treaties to maintain, a council to contend with. He has to keep the peace between magic users and non-magic people after twenty-three years of Uther’s persecution. He has to rule. Eventually, Merlin will slip from his mind, not because Arthur doesn’t care about him, but because he cares so much about his kingdom. 

Merlin, however, won’t ever get a chance to forget. He’ll be stuck in Ealdor for the foreseeable future, growing more and more dissatisfied. He’ll grow tired of cow births and crops, tired of suspicious villagers, and hiding himself in a way he didn’t have to. Whether he stays in Ealdor or not, he’ll always compare his life to the life he got lead in Camelot. Perhaps he could go back and become Gaius’s apprentice. He found most of the medical texts horribly dull, but it might be worth it be surrounded with friends once more. 

But Arthur didn’t ask him to stay. He doesn’t know why, perhaps he was too much of a distraction, or perhaps the looks he thought he saw Arthur sending him were in his head, and he only thought of Merlin as a friend after all. Regardless of the reason, Merlin won’t go against Arthur’s wishes. He doesn’t want Arthur to grow irritated with him, or rather, more irritated than he got any given day when Merlin intentionally riled him because it was funny.

He hasn’t spent this much time alone since before he went to Camelot. He was always spending the day with Will or Freya, sometime his mother if she needed his help. He still tries to spend time with them, but there are too many moments when he says something and they look at him as though they’ve never met him before. It just reminds him that he has no place in Ealdor, nor any place in Camelot. So he takes care of the chores that allow him to spend time alone. He walks through the woods, checking the snares and resetting them if they catch anything. He sits quietly and cards wool. Anything to avoid Will’s concerned face, and his uncharacteristically gentle, “Are you ever going to talk about your time there?”

At first people would ask him about Camelot. Most of their questions involved the city itself, but some asked about Arthur. Only Freya asked about Morgana. No one asks about Gwen or any of the knights. It isn’t their fault. Knights and servants aren’t nearly as exciting as kings and powerful sorceresses, but Merlin loved Gwen and Gwaine, he loved Lancelot and Elyan and Percival, he even loved Leon in their own awkward way. They were just as much his friends as Arthur and Morgana.

When it became clear that he wasn’t going tell them much, and absolutely refused to gossip, he was left alone. He wishes he could say he wasn’t moping, but he is. There’s no point in denying it. Bizarrely, he even misses getting into it with Pompous Ass and the other lords. As frustrating as it was, it made him feel like he was doing something to help. He’s not doing much of that here, sitting on the edge of his mother’s roof and passing Will nails to repair it. 

“Merlin!” Will snaps, and Merlin startles, nearly slipping off the roof. Only a quick spell keeps him from taking a tumble.

He glares at Will and snaps back, “What?”

“I asked three times for another nail. Where’s your head at?” 

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbles and passes over another nail, “I was distracted.”

Will accepts the nail, and taps it into place with confident strikes of his hammer. That portion of the task completed, he turns to Merlin with the concerned look on his face that he gets every time Merlin is lost in thoughts of Camelot. Merlin hates that look. Will has never been emotionally attentive. In fact, he’s worse than Arthur when it comes to emotions, so it is highly unnatural to see his expression filled with concern and pity.

“You have to move on.” He says gently, “If you won’t talk about it, then you have to find a way to move on.”

“It’s not that easy.” Merlin admits.

“If you told me what happened, then maybe I could help.”

It’s a reasonable request. Will is his oldest friend and Merlin trusts him with his life, but talking about Arthur, trying to explain that never getting a chance to follow through on what he thought was there, it’s too hard. Will wouldn’t understand, either. He would tell Merlin go riding back to Camelot and kiss his prince and stop moping, as though Merlin hasn’t thought of doing just that every day since returning home. He also wouldn’t understand why Merlin has grown so discontent with Ealdor. Ealdor always welcomed Will, even when he decided to pal around with Merlin. It’s his home in a way it never was for Merlin, and Merlin doesn’t think Will would understand that Merlin found a home, but isn’t sure he’s welcome to live there any longer. Visit, yes, but live? 

“I just…” he says hesitantly, “I made a lot of friends there. People who know what I am, saw what I could do, and didn’t ever shun me for it.”

“I was always there for you.” Will points out, abandoning patching the roof in favor of sitting next to Merlin. 

Merlin sends him a sideways glance, “When I killed Kanen, even you had trouble with me.”

“I wasn’t scared of you.” Will insists, “I just had to take in the idea that you had that much power at your fingertips. I never understood how powerful you were before that.”

“You came around, but no one else has.”

“They’re all stupid anyway.”

That makes Merlin crack a small grin. It’s so very Will to be that loyal.

Merlin has nothing to say, so he stares out across the woods. As usual, his eyes are drawn in the direction of Camelot. He’s patrolled those very woods on countless occasions the last three years, and he might know them better than he knows the tunnels in the nearby mountains that he grew up in. It’s strange to feel homesick when he’s home.

Two riders trot out of the forest, and at first Merlin doesn’t react. More traders have been coming through since Arthur settled the conflicts his campaign in Essetir caused. He watches them move closer, and realizes there’s something familiar about them. Red capes billow in the breeze behind them, and there’s no mistaking that shade of blonde or the length of that dark wavy hair. It’s Gwaine and Arthur. Merlin sits up straight, leaning forward to get a better look. 

“Merlin?” Will asks.

“It’s them!”

“Who?”

“Gwaine and Arthur!” Merlin shouts, grinning like a loon. 

He shoves himself off the edge of the roof, using magic to cushion his fall. There’s no time to waste sing a ladder, not when his friends are so close by. Will lets out a strangled shout of protest when Merlin flings himself into open air, but Merlin ignores him. He takes off running down the road.

Gwaine is the first to notice Merlin, and shouts a greeting that is lost from this distance. He tosses his reins to Arthur, and Arthur makes his familiar disgruntled face as Gwaine leaps from the back of his horse. He runs down the road to Merlin, and the two of them don’t so much wrap each other in a big hug as collide into each other and nearly fall over with the force of their combined momentum. 

“Hello, Gwaine!” Merlin laughs as they stagger from side to side trying to keep themselves up.

Gwaine laughs as well, and manages to get them to firm footing, “Merlin, old friend, I missed you.”

They separate after a moment, and Gwaine clasps Merlin by the shoulders. It is ridiculously good to see him. Out of anyone, Gwaine reacted the best to his magic. He was the reason Merlin was adopted by the knights to begin with. 

“I missed you too.” Merlin says with a grin.

Just then, Arthur walks up, leading both horses behind him. He grins when he sees Merlin, and lets out a short bark of laughter. “It’s good to see you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t last a month without me.” Merlin jokes.

“Shut up.” Arthur says reflexively, and it makes Merlin laugh again.

They watch each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Arthur is the one to move. He drops the reins, steps forward, and wraps one arm around Merlin’s shoulders, dragging him into a hug. Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the tears of relief, and wraps one arm around Arthur’s back. They haven’t hugged since that day Arthur accepted his magic, but everything about it is familiar. Merlin just knows him well enough. Even Arthur’s scent is familiar.

“You came back for me.” Merlin accuses when Arthur releases him.

Arthur scoffs, “Hardly. Gwaine brow beat me until I agreed to come along.”

“Liar.” Merlin jokes.

His eyes catch on the charm hanging around Arthur’s neck. The necklace was his mother’s, Merlin knows, and it has the small disk that had the symbol of her house stamped into it, but hanging right next to it is the charm Merlin enchanted. At some point Arthur, or someone else, had carefully wound thread around the merlin so that it could be hung from the chain. Merlin’s heart does a summersault at the sight. 

Without thinking, he reaches out, and takes the merlin between his fingers. “You kept it.”

“I told you I would.” Arthur says as though Merlin is particularly thick, “I’m hardly likely to go back on my word after only a month.”

“Sorry.” Merlin says with a sheepish grin, “I missed you, you know.”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably, like he always does when trying to handle emotions, and says, “I missed you too, oddly enough. Lord knows why.”

“Merlin,” Gwaine says, interrupting, “is your friend Will about?”

“I left him repairing my mother’s roof. You’re not allowed to sleep with him.” Merlin warns.

Gwaine laughs and smacks Merlin lightly on the chest, “What do you take me for?”

“Someone who enjoys flirting.”

“Can’t deny that.” Gwaine responds, “Anyway. If you need me, I’ll be annoying Will or flattering Hunith.”

Arthur and Merlin watch Gwaine lead the horses into town proper. It leaves the two of them alone.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asks just as Arthur blurts, “Come back.”

“What?” Merlin asks dumbly.

Arthur grimaces a bit, but slides his hand into Merlin’s hand, “I was a fool to let you go. You’ve come to mean more to me than any other person. You were the person I knew I could always trust, the person who made me feel like I could be the king my people deserve. You are my best friend, and I should never have let you go.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says gently, “You realize that my feelings for you aren’t exactly platonic, right?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin.”

“I’m not trying to be. I just want to be sure we’re on the same page.”

“We’re on the same page.” Arthur says seriously, “I haven’t been able to think of anything other than how much I missed you. I think I love you.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows and has to fight back the smile threatening to take over his face, “You think?”

Arthur nods, “I don’t know what it’s meant to feel like, but I do know that I never want to be parted from you. You make me feel whole.”

“You make me feel whole too.”

“So you’ll come back?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you kiss me.” Merlin says, losing the battle against his smile.

Arthur mutters something under his breath and it sounds like ‘ridiculous’, then he steps into Merlin’s space. His hand comes up to cradle Merlin’s jaw, and Merlin tilts is head into the pressure. Arthur smiles, a soft relieved joyful thing, and presses a kiss to Merlin’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The end! I hope you all enjoyed it.


End file.
